


Suite Romance

by OrilliaOrange



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Modern AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-07
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-03-16 16:31:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 27,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3495227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrilliaOrange/pseuds/OrilliaOrange
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a mission goes wrong, Cassandra and Varric are hidden away in a shitty motel while the Inquisition tries to smooth things over.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It’s not so much living together as it is forced cohabitation. One small motel room under an assumed name in Ostwick. Even Varric’s quick tongue had failed him when the Inquisition agent had escorted them into their motel room. The honeymoon suite, the desk clerk had informed them in a nasal monotone. “Tacky” doesn’t do the room justice; it’s decked out in shades of red and pink. Hearts and lace cover every imaginable surface. Even the chandelier’s crystal pendants are heart-shaped. Surprisingly enough, the bed itself isn’t heart-shaped, but it makes up for this deficiency by having a vibrate setting.

 

Cassandra’s taking it all very well, Varric considers. There’s a vein pounding in her forehead, and a dull flush spreading across her face, but she’s accepted their fate with quiet dignity and grace.

 

“We’ll be in contact within the week. The Inquisitor and Lady Montiliyet believe they can smooth over the, ah,” the agent pauses delicately, “incident by then. Don’t leave the motel room, in the mean time. Everything’s going on the Inquisition’s bill, and there’s an agent one room over.”

 

Varric remains standing stock still in the middle of the room when the agent goes to leave, hesitates in the doorway, and says “Good luck, lovebirds!” in a loud, cheeky voice before shutting the door. It might’ve been to cement their cover, but Varric resolves to write a stern letter to Nightingale and Ruffles.

 

Cassandra’s somewhere behind him. There’s the clink of ice against metal, and then a dull popping noise.

 

“Is that champagne?” Varric asks, eyebrows raised.

 

Cassandra drains her glass and tosses Varric a delicate champagne flute with cavalier disregard for its safety.

 

Outside, it’s still light out, but this is an occasion for drinking if there ever was one, so Varric holds his champagne flute out while Cassandra fills it.

 

Cassandra mutters something with long, round vowels and clipped consonants before clinking their glasses together. She tosses her drink back and glares at the bed, with its heart patterned comforter.

 

“Could always be worse, Seeker. If we’d really fucked up, Nightingale might’ve put us in an even uglier motel,” Varric says, taking a seat on the bed.

 

“You can imagine worse than this?” Cassandra says, one dark eyebrow rising up in question.

 

“Themed sex motel in Lowtown. Had a room devoted to tentacles,” he says solemnly.

 

“I do not want to know how you know this, Varric,” She takes a large gulp of her drink.

 

“Well, no shit--there we were, running from the guard when one of Isabela’s friends…” Varric starts, a shit eating grin spreading across his face.

 

A heart shaped pillow hits him square in the mouth. “Hot Stuff” is embroidered on the pillow’s other side.

 

Cassandra’s severe mouth turns up at the corners, just a tiny bit.

 

“Are you smirking at me, Seeker?” Varric asks, mock-incredulity colouring his voice.

 

Cassandra’s only response is to school her features into bland innocence.

 

“That’s uncanny,” Varric says. Champagne bubbles and fizzes its way down his throat, and Cassandra refills his glass. They’re already about halfway through the bottle.

 

Cassandra snorts, and sets her glass down on the little bureau (dark mahogany-tinted wood with red and pink hearts for knobs), fingers nimbly unbuttoning her dark jacket. Beneath it, the slim holster for her gun rests snug against her side, black straps crisscrossing her white shirt. This too comes off, Cassandra checks the safety of her gun before setting it down, and rolling her shoulders. Varric can hear her joints popping from where he sits.  

 

“Knew you were tightly wound, Seeker, but damn,” Varric says.

 

Cassandra favours him with a glare and cracks her neck.

 

“Andraste’s sacred snot. You going to do that the entire time we’re here?” Varric asks, unsettled.

 

“Only if you’re good,” Cassandra says, before she pops her knuckles too.

 

“Either pop your joints or sass me, Seeker. My poor heart can’t take both,” Varric clutches his chest.

 

Cassandra gives Varric a look that’s drier than the desert. Despite that, there’s a small smile hiding in the corners of her mouth. It’s an interesting thing, Varric thinks, that Cassandra is the more relaxed of the two of them.

 

Though that might be the champagne’s influence.

 

Drawing his gaze away from where it’s settled on Cassandra’s face, Varric decides it’s high time they investigated the room they’re trapped in. For a week. The thought sends a shiver down his spine.

 

“What are you doing?” Cassandra pushes herself off the bureau and leans against the wall, all long limbs and ruffled hair.

 

“Compiling a list of assets,” Varric answers, rummaging through the bedside table. There’s a book that Rivaini recommended, a pair of fuzzy handcuffs, dice, a deck of cards, condoms, and a variety pack of lube. Further inspection reveals that the dice are, in fact, sex dice, and the deck of cards has naked people instead of suits. Tossing it all onto the bed, Varric turns his search to the other bedside table. Silk ties, a ball gag, massage oil, sex flash cards (Varric winces at these), and an assortment of what one can only assume are novelty condoms.

 

“Maker’s breath,” Cassandra says through her laughter as Varric lists each item, a bright blush staining her cheeks. Pinched between two fingers is one of the (hopefully) novelty condoms, which asserts that not only is it neon orange and guaranteed to taste like candyfloss, but also a “surefire partner pleaser”. For some reason, it has a tassel on the tip.

 

“It looks like a sock puppet,” Varric says, giving the thing a very suspicious look.

 

Cassandra cackles, which is probably the strangest thing he’s ever heard from her. Granted, this is the strangest situation they’ve ever been in. Stuck in a shitty motel’s even shittier honeymoon suite with half a bottle of champagne and a mound of sexy junk of indiscriminate quality. For a week.

 

There are worse fates, Varric concedes.

 

The sex toys go back in their drawers, though Varric keeps the cards just in case they need to play a game. Even if they are full of close up shots of genitalia.

 

On second thought, Varric thinks, maybe not. The cards go back in the drawer too.

 

Champagne splashes into his glass, and Cassandra pours more into her own, covering a yawn. She sits beside him on the bed, and Varric can see her slowly winding down from exhaustion.

 

Of course, Varric yawns too. They’ve been awake for hours; the drive into Ostwick started two days ago, taking a circuitous route from Hunter Fell. It was all entertainingly covert, but tedious nonetheless.

 

Whatever it was Cassandra murmured before, she says it again, the vowels stretching farther when she yawns in the middle of it. Their glasses chime together, champagne sloshing and bubbling.

 

“Seeker. Lie down before you fall asleep in your drink,” Varric says, gesturing at the heart-bedecked bed.

 

Of all the glares Cassandra’s given him, this one has the least ire behind it. It’s far too sleepy-eyed to be angry. She looks ready to tear a strip off him, but when she opens her mouth, another jaw-cracking yawn replaces whatever she was going to say.

 

The look of consternation on her face is actually a little cute, Varric thinks.

 

Cassandra hands him her champagne flute, a little smudge of lipstick left on the rim. Pulling one of her long legs up to the bed, she begins unlacing her boots, kicking them off into a corner. Her belt goes next, and then her shirt. When she started undoing the buttons, Varric had averted his eyes, wondering if Cassandra was going to strip down entirely. To his relief (and a vague sense of disappointment, which is weird, and he refuses to think about it), Cassandra has a plain white undershirt on. Drawing herself up against the headboard (the heart motif continues here, along with a ridiculous amount of lace), Cassandra extends a hand for her glass, and Varric obliges her.

 

It occurs to him that this is the most he’s seen the Seeker drink, ever. He’d assumed she didn’t drink, or was at least a lightweight, but she’s downing champagne like a fashionably  disenchanted Orlesian noble.

 

“Would never have picked you for a champagne woman, Seeker,” Varric says.

 

“Oh?” Cassandra raises an eyebrow at him over her champagne flute. “Should I be drinking nothing but water, or shots of hard liquor?”

 

Varric studies her for a moment, makes a show of it. “Hard liquor, definitely. Possibly while narrating your own story. Something like ‘I walked into the bar--a dive if I ever saw one. Sad souls were scattered to the far corners of the joint, all focused on their own drinks,’ while something jazzy plays in the background.”

 

Cassandra snickers.

 

Noir would suit her, Varric thinks as he unlaced his own shoes. The genre was all about tough people fighting against a corrupt system. He’s halfway through composing the story in his head when Cassandra clears her throat behind him.

 

Varric swings his legs up onto the bed, and from the way Cassandra’s looking at him, they’re about to have a serious talk.

 

“You may sleep here, Varric,” Cassandra says, regally.

 

“Gee, thanks,” Varric responds. “Here I was worried you were going to make me sleep in the tub.”

 

“I do not mind sharing a bed with you,” Cassandra says, looking awkward. “As long as you understand there is no… subtext to that statement.”

 

“Perish the thought,” he says dryly.

 

They sit in silence, until Varric breaks it with: “The bathtub is also heart-shaped.”

 

Cassandra exhales heavily. “I hate this place.”

 

Her eyes are barely open, and Varric plucks the champagne flute from her hand before it can topple onto the comforter. Ugly as it is, it won’t be improved by a stain.

 

“May as well sleep, Seeker,” Varric says as Cassandra slides down the headboard and curls up on top of a pile of heart-shaped pillows. Within a few minutes, her breathing evens out and Varric wonders how soon he can tease her about her snoring.

 

With Cassandra asleep, there’s precious little to do in the motel room, so Varric pulls the book (whose cover depicts a windblown couple, mid-swoon) from the drawer and begins to read.

 

Within a few pages, it’s obvious why Rivaini liked the damn thing so much. Smut of the highest degree. The sort of thing that would singe Cassandra’s eyebrows off. She considers his writing smutty, when it’s nothing more than glorified fluff.

  
When the words start swimming on the page, Varric marks his place and sets the book aside. The pillows are atrocious, but surprisingly comfortable. The Seeker’s soft snores are strangely soothing, and Varric figures he must really be exhausted if sharing a bed with Cassandra Pentaghast relaxes him. He falls asleep to the sound of her breathing.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new day dawns, and brings a great many new sights.

The first thing Cassandra sees when she wakes up is Varric’s sleeping face, mashed into the pillow. His hair is loose from its ponytail, falling into his face in gingery tangles. He sleeps on his stomach, one arm flung up by his head and the other trapped somewhere beneath him.

 

In sleep, Varric looks vulnerable, his usual smirk replaced by a lax half-smile. Seeing Varric relaxed is novel, and it’s probably the result of all the champagne, or the fact that she’s only half awake, but the sight of him stirs something in her chest.

 

The moment’s broken when Cassandra learns something new about Varric:

 

He _snores_. Atrociously.

 

With a sigh, Cassandra rolls over and covers her ears with her pillow, hoping to fall back asleep.

 

It’s not a success, and Cassandra stares at the water stained ceiling listening to Varric’s snores before deciding to get up.

 

According to the clock, they’ve been asleep for five hours, and Cassandra’s aching head tells her she shouldn’t have downed all that champagne on a nearly empty stomach. Blearily, she makes her way to the ensuite bathroom, which is possibly more of a disaster than the bedroom. Everything that can possibly be heart-shaped _is_ , and what can’t be either has hearts _on_ it, is pink, red, or white, or trimmed with lace.

 

Some unfortunate objects are all of these things.

 

Cassandra fills a pink-tinted glass with water from the tap, drains it, fills it again, and takes the opportunity to splash water on her face.

 

The bathroom mirror shows her a tired woman, with greasy hair that sticks up in spikes on one side and eye makeup smeared to her temples. A quick search through the bathroom reveals a shower tiled in alternating pink, red, and white tiles, fluffy towels in the same colour scheme, and an assortment of shampoos and soaps--all obnoxiously-tinted, and smelling like flowers.

 

Stripping out of her clothes, Cassandra folds them neatly despite the fact that they show the signs of two days’ wear and tear, and places them on the counter. Hopefully their Inquisition babysitter can do laundry, or at least buy them a new wardrobe.

 

The motel has an excellent supply of hot water, which is the only good thing she can say of the place. Steam quickly fills the bathroom, and Cassandra can feel the knots in her back unwinding under the scalding hot water.

 

Cassandra admits that sharing a motel room with Varric has, so far, been painless (aside from the snoring) Granted, it’s only been one day, but whether that has to do with them being on friendlier terms lately, or that they’ve found a common enemy in the honeymoon suite’s horrible decor, she isn’t sure. Whatever the reason, hopefully it can last a week.

 

______________________

  
  


Varric rises out of sleep slowly. The world is a blur of red, white, and pink, and the smell of hot, wet flowers hangs in the air. Propping himself up on one elbow, Varric scrubs a hand over his face and waits for the world to make sense.

 

Instead, the world brings forth Cassandra Pentaghast in a short pink robe and a cloud of flowery-smelling steam.

 

“Andraste’s tits,” Varric mumbles, caught between sleepy and awestruck.

 

Cassandra stops short in the middle of the room, clearly startled.

 

They stare at one another as steam invades the room. It’s not a _bad_ smell, Varric thinks, to distract himself from the swathes of skin Cassandra’s robe leaves bare. Then he catches a whiff of his own scent, and winces.

 

A shower is definitely an excellent idea.

 

“How’s the bathroom?” he asks.

 

“Worse than the bedroom,” Cassandra says with a small laugh. “More hearts, lace on things that shouldn’t have lace, and every soap and shampoo is named for some type of flower.”

 

His champagne’s flat, but Varric still takes a sip to clear the fuzziness out of his mouth.

 

“Wonderful. This place is a romance novelist’s wet dream,” Varric grumbles, sitting upright and shoving his hair out of his face.

 

“Varric, _you_ write romance novels!”

 

“None of _my_ dreams look like this, Seeker,” Varric says wryly.

 

She ruffles her towel over her head, leaving her hair sticking up every which way. The robe is cut short, with slits up either side that display a healthy amount of leg. They’re nice legs, though: strongly-muscled thighs and calves that taper down into delicate ankles. A nasty looking scar winds its way from behind her left knee to her ankle.

 

“Room service, after I shower?” Varric asks to distract himself from expanse of Cassandra’s legs.

 

“Agreed. Perhaps we can request additional clothes.” She wrinkles her nose in disgust. “I do not want to wear the same thing for a week, or longer.”

 

There’s a knock at the door. In unison, Cassandra and Varric turn towards the door, waiting for the pattern of knocks that indicate their Inquisition babysitter.

 

“‘Bout damn time!” Varric grouses after the appropriate number of knocks.

 

Cassandra strides forward, and Varric has to avert his eyes. That robe is really… something.

 

Clearly the Inquisition agent thinks so too, because she immediately turns bright red and develops a stutter.

 

“Lady P-P-Pentaghast. I’m… ah. I’m P-Parker.” Parker sticks a hand out, and she darkens further when Cassandra shakes it. Stepping aside, the Seeker lets Parker into their atrocious room.

 

Parker takes a moment to compose herself before holding out two large bags. “Clothes and some supplies, with Lady Montiliyet’s sympathies.”

 

“Thank you, Parker,” Varric says, amused.

 

“I have the room next door. Number 15,” Parker says, stutter lost as long as she’s not looking at Cassandra. “This is the number to reach me at. Is there anything you need?”

 

“A deck of cards, some books? Anything to keep us from murdering one another while we’re stuck here,” Varric says.

 

“Of course. Is there anything else?”

 

“Do you know how long we’ll be here?” Cassandra asks.

 

“Lady Montiliyet and Lady Nightingale haven’t sent any new information, I’m afraid. My apologies, Lady Pentaghast,” Parker says, looking at a spot somewhere to the right of Cassandra’s face.

 

“If you must use titles, Parker? I would prefer Seeker Pentaghast.”

 

“Yes, Lady--ah, Seeker Pentaghast,” Parker breathes.

 

“Thank you, Parker,” Cassandra says firmly, relieving the agent of her bags.

 

“You’re welcome, Seeker Pentaghast,” Parker says, eyes like saucers.

 

Not that Varric can blame the poor woman. Cassandra’s a tall lady, and wearing nothing but a robe doesn’t detract in the least from how impressive she is. Parker’s blush spreads from her ears to her neck as Cassandra turns to place the parcels on the table.

 

“Dismissed, Parker,” Cassandra says, bestowing a nod of approval upon the agent.

 

Looking faint, Parker makes a beeline for the door. Striding towards it, Cassandra locks the door, and Varric can understand Parker’s blush. Which is a bit disconcerting.

 

Cassandra’s glaring at the note that accompanied the deliveries from Parker, as though her gaze could light the offending paper on fire.

 

“Bad news?” Varric guesses.

 

There’s a patchy red flush spreading across Cassandra’s face, and he knows her well enough to see that she’s pissed. The letter lands with a thump and a jingle on the bed.

 

“Maker’s fat ass.” No wonder Cassandra’s fit to be tied. The two rings attached to Josephine’s letter are heavier than they look. It’s all part of their cover, but there are limits.

 

“Ruffles has a point. We _are_ registered as Mr and Mrs--”

 

“I know what the registry says, Varric,” Cassandra seethes. Her hands are busy mangling the note’s envelope.

 

Varric sets the letter down on the bedside table. The rings clatter together, and Cassandra winces, then scowls.

 

“She send us anything good?” Varric asks, hoping to distract her.

 

“Clothes for both of us. Toiletries,” Cassandra replies, setting the aforementioned items on the table. There’s a rectangular package separate from the rest, which Cassandra shoves under the stack of clothes Josie sent her.

 

Varric has a feeling he knows what it is (the newest Swords & Shields arrived just in time for them to leave Skyhold), and lets it go without a remark.

 

“That’s a relief,” Varric says, stretching as he stands. “If you’ll excuse me, Seeker. The shower calls.”

 

Varric pads towards the bathroom. It’s just as appalling as Cassandra said it would be, but at least it offers a little privacy.

 

Ruffles and Nightingale are really selling the fake marriage cover story, and Varric’s pretty sure that doesn’t bode well.

 

______________________

 

Cassandra can _feel_ the wedding rings. Their presence is like a psychic itch she can’t scratch. Wedding rings. Of all the ridiculous bullshit. The worst part is that they’re lovely rings. A pair of simple gold bands, the woman’s band set with a single perfect diamond.

 

Cassandra dresses, puts away the clothes Josephine has sent her, hides her new book next to the night table on her side of the bed, and runs out of things to do. Varric is still in the shower, and Cassandra fully intends to retrieve the newest Swords & Shields from beside the bed. Instead she picks up the letter, with the rings attached at the bottom. The woman’s band is already coming loose from the tape, Cassandra reasons as she plucks the ring off the page.

 

The ring shines in the artificial motel light. With a quick look at the bathroom door, Cassandra turns her back and studies her left hand. Unlike the ring, her hand is not delicate. Cassandra’s fingers might be long but they’re sturdy and show the effects of her job. Burn marks and scars dot her skin. Biting her lip, Cassandra slides the wedding band onto her ring finger, half expecting it to look absurd.

 

It doesn’t. It looks _beautiful_.

 

Allowing herself a few moments to appreciate the ring, Cassandra pulls it off and sets it back on the night table with its mate. It may be a gorgeous ring, but it’s still a lie. Both rings glimmer, and Cassandra sweeps them into the drawer to join the sex toys as the shower stops.

 

Chastising herself for wasting time with foolishness when she could’ve been reading, Cassandra seats herself at the table where her gun sits on a soft cloth waiting to be cleaned. By now, she can strip, clean, and reassemble her gun almost automatically, but Cassandra focuses herself entirely on the weapon, examining it for any wear and treating it to a thorough cleaning. The familiar movements help to ease the tightness in her chest, Cassandra’s breathing evens out into slow, measured breaths.

 

Movement catches her eye, and immediately her composure is broken. Varric had apparently decided to forgo the robe left on the hook, and opted instead for wrapping one of the fluffy towels around his waist. While he sorts through the clothes on the table, Cassandra watches the muscles of his back flex. It’s a little disconcerting to realize that the man is well muscled. Perhaps because she stands well over a full head taller than Varric, the idea that he might be her more than her equal in strength is a strange one, Cassandra thinks.

 

Varric turns, clothes in one hand and the other holding his towel up, giving Cassandra a better view of his...everything. It’s not as though she was unaware of the profusion of ginger chest hair that covers Varric’s chest (there’s not a soul in Thedas who hasn’t seen it, thanks to Varric’s author photos, or his open necked shirts), but the way it trails down his chest and stomach to disappear beneath the towel is a little distracting.

 

“Seeker?” Varric shuffles his grip on the clothes to sweep a hand through the wet hair that's fallen in his face.

 

Startled, Cassandra realizes she’s been busy considering Varric’s arms and has been staring vacantly at him.

 

“Varric,” she says evenly, tone giving nothing away. Hopefully Varric won’t notice the warmth Cassandra can feel spreading across her face.

 

“Cabin fever already?” Varric says, making his way back to the bathroom. “Should I be hiding all potential weapons?”

 

Cassandra snorts. “Don’t be an ass.”

 

“Kind of my default, Seeker.” The bathroom door closes behind him, and Cassandra lets out a slow breath.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for reading my weird little AU.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The close quarters become grating, Cassandra and Varric enjoy a picnic.

“Varric by the Maker, stop!” Cassandra growls, nerves frayed to the breaking point.

 

Varric whistles a few more lines of that infernal song, and smirks.

 

Cassandra can feel her nails digging into her palms, and quietly reminds herself that if she kills Varric, Swords and Shields will end.

 

There are only so many times she can clean her gun, or sharpen her knives. She’s even sharpened Varric’s knives, but he won’t let her touch Bianca. Which is incredibly unfair, the gun is a fine piece of machinery, bleeding edge technology.

 

Inaction has never suited her well, Cassandra admits.

 

The newest Swords and Shields beckons, but Varric is in the room and the idea of reading a romance novel in front of him is a little appalling. Even if it is one of his.

 

Actually. Particularly if it is one of his.

 

Not that Varric’s unaware of her passion for his books.

 

Frowning at herself, Cassandra puts away her whetstone and stalks over to her side of the bed, where the newest Swords and Shields is stashed. By the Maker, she’s being foolish and it’s infuriating.

 

Sending a glare towards Varric’s back, Cassandra settles onto the bed and opens her book.

 

“Good book, Seeker?” Varric asks, raising a sardonic eyebrow.

 

“Terrible,” Cassandra said flatly.

 

“You know, I was really worried about the third chapter,” Varric said “When the Knight-Captain has to face off against--”

 

“VARRIC!” Cassandra could feel her teeth grinding together. Always he had to taunt. To needle.

 

Three days of forced confinement had frayed both their tempers. There was no way to escape one another, no privacy to speak of.

 

Varric retreated into an almost sulky silence, as Cassandra returned to her book.

 

Three days and no word from Josephine or Leliana. Cassandra stared at her page, not seeing any words. Three days and no idea what the Inquisition was doing, how they were coping. Stuck in a small room, incapable of action and left to wait while others did the work.

 

The entire thing set Cassandra’s teeth on edge.

 

Tap tap tap

 

Taking a deep breath, Cassandra tried to focus again on her book.

 

Tap tap tap

 

Exhaling sharply through her nose, Cassandra grit her teeth and told herself to ignore it.

 

Tap tap tap

 

“VARRIC!”

 

“Seeker,” Varric’s serene response is just so typically him it makes Cassandra’s blood boil.

 

“Stop that infernal tapping!” Cassandra said, struggling to keep from shouting.

 

Tap

 

“You little shit!”

 

Cassandra launches herself off the bed, towards the table where Varric sat, pen in hand. With a clatter, the pen fell to the table as Varric leapt out of his chair and tried to put space between them.

 

“Now, now Seeker I-” Varric began.

 

The phone rang. As one, Cassandra and Varric turned their gaze towards the phone. It rang again, shrilly.

 

“Should we answer it?” Varric asks, staring at the phone.

 

“Only Parker and the front desk have this number,” Cassandra said, walking towards the phone. “Hello?”

 

Behind her, Varric rolls his eyes.

 

“Yes. No I do not-- Of course,” Cassandra said.

 

No woman on her honeymoon would sound so brusque. Not that he knew anything about that, Varric thought.

 

Setting the receiver down with a sharp click, Cassandra turns on her heel and scowls.

 

“Management would like to send us a congratulatory gift basket,” Cassandra said, glowering at the phone.

 

“A gift basket,” Varric gave the room an expressive look. “That’s going to be terrible!”

 

“You are far too pleased about this.”

 

Varric shrugs, and grins. “Given what was in the drawers of this place? Can’t wait to see what they put in a gift basket.”

 

Cassandra snorts, and sits back down on the bed.

 

“It cannot possibly be worse.”

 

“We hope,” Varric points out.

 

Someone rapped smartly on the door. With a sigh, Cassandra heaved herself off the bed and beckoned to Varric.

 

“If you think I’m facing this alone, you’re mistaken.”

 

“Five seconds ago you were about to rip my throat out. Forgive me if I’m not willing to back you up,” Varric says dryly.

 

“Varric…” Cassandra exhales sharply, “I am-”

 

Whoever it was knocked again, louder and somehow managing to sound insolent.

 

Cassandra and Varric’s eyes met, sharing a look of commiseration that cut through some of their earlier tension.

 

Grimacing, Varric thrusts his hand into the bedside table, fishes about for Josephine’s letter.

 

“Before you open that, Seeker? Catch!” Varric tosses the wedding ring to Cassandra.

 

Sliding the man’s ring onto his finger, Varric wonders how Ruffles and Nightingale know what size ring he wore. The metal felt stiff and heavy against his skin, a cold, unfamiliar presence.

 

Looking up, Varric catches a strange expression as it crosses Cassandra’s face. With a sharp gesture, she jams the ring onto her finger and curls her hand into a fist.

 

Cassandra flings the door open on a young, bored looking man bearing a large and gaudy basket.

 

Without changing his expression, the young man brandishes the basket, and steps back.

 

“On behalf of the Happy Hearts Hideaway Motel, we thank you for choosing us and offer you this gift basket,” he intones “We wish you happiness in your new lives together.”

 

“Thanks,” Varric said, around the enormous basket Cassandra forced into his hands.

 

“There’s a song,” the man said, holding out a hand, “I can sing it if you want?”

 

“Tip the man, Cass,” Varric said, spitting a bit of tissue paper out of his mouth.

 

“No, thank you. We do not need the song,” Cassandra said, shooting Varric a dark look on her way to her bag.

 

“Felicitations,” the man drawls, accepting the bill Cassandra passed him.

 

“Thank you,” Cassandra said curtly, shutting the door firmly in his face.

 

Varric can feel her eyes on him as he lugs the gift basket to the table.

 

“Cass?”

 

“We’re supposed to be married; I couldn’t call you Seeker Pentaghast!” The basket hit the table with a thump, and something in its depths buzzes.

 

“Andraste preserve us,” Cassandra says, looking at the basket in horror.

 

“I don’t think Andraste had a hand in this, Seeker,” Varric says.

 

They both stare at the basket, contents obscured by the deep red cellophane wrapper.

 

“We should stop that buzzing. Whatever it is,” Cassandra sighs.

 

“Would you like to do the honours, Seeker?” Varric sweeps a mocking bow, and gestures towards the basket.

 

Lip curling, Cassandra pulls a knife from her pocket and flicks it open. Slicing the plastic, she peels it away from the basket and sighs heavily.

 

“More hearts. How original,” Varric quipps, pulling out a box emblazoned with a woman wearing nothing but underwear made of heart shaped candy.

 

“Find the buzzing thing, Varric. Not new wardrobe options,” Cassandra says.

 

“This is a new side of you, Seeker. I’m not sure how I feel about it,” Varric complains, rummaging through their still vibrating gift basket.

 

“Found it!” Triumphantly pulling a bullet vibrator out from the basket, Varric and Cassandra watch the egg shaped device bob around on its cord. “Wish I hadn’t though.”

 

Heaving a sigh, Cassandra reaches over and turns the vibrator off.

 

“I hate this place.”

 

“At least the food’s good, Seeker,” Varric said. “Speaking of, room service? I’m hungry enough to eat these!”

 

Varric waggles the box of edible panties, enjoying Cassandra’s look of disgust.

 

“Appalling. We should get food before you lose what’s left of your dignity,” Cassandra grimaces.

 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Outside the wind howls, rain dashes itself against the windows, and the occasional crack of thunder echoes through their room. Sitting together on the bed, a half eaten tray of sandwiches between them and a bottle of wine on the bedside table, the atmosphere was companionable. A refreshing change from the antagonism of the day.

 

“So now I have two Orlesian fan clubs, both of whom are intent on exterminating the other to become the only official Varric Tethras Appreciation Society!” Varric finished, laughing.

 

Cassandra’s expression of disbelief was probably warranted, Varric thought. Though given all the weird shit that happened to them, it was a little hurtful.

 

“Seriously. Apparently it’s becoming a diplomatic nightmare. Ruffles keeps looking at me sadly whenever a new chapter of Hard in Hightown comes out,” Varric said.

 

“That explains the chocolates,” Cassandra says thoughtfully. “We had wondered if...ah.”

 

“If what?” Varric asks.

 

“If it had been the Inquisitor,” Cassandra says.

 

“Is that why they...oh. Wow.” Varric says.

 

Cassandra looks distinctly uncomfortable, and the glass of wine in her hand may’ve been terrible but it didn’t deserve the look she was giving it.

 

Maybe the Inquisitor and Ruffles’ relationship was a sore spot, Varric wondered. Though with the Seeker’s passion for… passion... Understanding dawned.

 

“You’re sad because it was me and not the Inquisitor who sent Ruffles the chocolates,” Varric said “Seeker, you are a marshmallow.”

 

“I am no such thing, Varric!” Cassandra snaps.

 

“You are! Cassandra Portia Filomena Allegra Calogera Pentaghast, scariest woman this side of Par Vollen. A giant marshmallow,” Varric shakes his head, sips his wine.

 

“You could at least get my names in the right order, Varric. Cassandra Allegra Portia Calogera Filomena Pentaghast,” Cassandra says, with the air of someone who’s had to repeat the same thing dozens of times.

 

“Hell of a thing to do to a kid, stick them with a name bigger than they are,” Varric says, reaching over to grab another small sandwich. Light glints off the gold band around his ring finger.

 

“Fuck. Forgot I was wearing the damn thing still. Looks like you did too, Seeker,” Varric motions to the elegant band around Cassandra’s ring finger.

 

Cassandra blushes, looking down at her hand in surprise. “So I did,” she said softly, twisting the simple ring around her finger.

 

The ring’s simplicity suited her, Varric thought. Any overly ostentatious ring would be impractical- bound to be snagged on clothing or armour, or to be easily damaged. The thin band emphasized the Seeker’s slim finger.

 

“Suits you, Seeker,” Varric says, avoiding any mention of how it flatters her.

 

Cassandra shot him a bemused look. “A fake wedding ring suits me, Varric? An odd compliment.”

 

“Jewelry, I mean. The gold looks nice against your skin,” Varric gestures towards Cassandra with his wine glass.

 

“Thank you,” Cassandra says, ducking her face slightly to hide her blush.

 

“Shit, there go the lights again,” Varric grumbled in the darkness.

  
“You’d think they’d have put candles in here, in addition to the sex toys,” Cassandra says, carefully setting down her wine glass on the bedside table, “Though they were probably worried about fires.”  

 

Cassandra crosses the room, flicks the light switches off, and tentatively makes her way back to the bed.

 

“I don’t know about that. If I owned this place, I’d burn it down myself,” Varric says crankily.

 

In the gloom, the gaudy bedroom was more tolerable, the usually bright decor faded into a moodier palette.

 

“It is awful. Not the kind of place I would choose for my honeymoon,” Cassandra said thoughtfully.

 

Rain pattered against the windows, another roll of thunder shook the glass in its panes.

 

“Your honeymoon, Seeker?” Varric asks, curious despite himself.

 

“Foolishness, and idle daydreams, Varric. Nothing more,” Cassandra says sternly.

 

“Oh come on, Seeker. What the hell else are we going to talk about?” Varric says.

 

“The weather, current events, your love life?” Cassandra says sharply.

 

“Low blow, Seeker,” Varric shrugs “Not like you don’t know the important parts anyways.”

 

Cassandra pauses thoughtfully, takes another sip of her wine. “I always wanted to go to Rivain, to see the ocean again.”

 

“Again? Didn’t figure you for the kind of person who vacationed in Rivain, Seeker,” Varric said, passing Cassandra the wine bottle.

 

“When we were young, Anthony and I went with distant cousins for the summer. I remember the smell of the ocean, the warmth of the breeze,” Cassandra says, sipping at her wine. “What of you, Varric?”

 

“Me? Dwarves and water are not exactly a good mix, Seeker,” Varric says, watching Cassandra in the dim light.

 

Cassandra sighs and Varric could practically feel her roll her eyes at him. “You know what I meant.”

 

“Yeah, I did,” Varric shifts around on the bed, refills his own wine glass.

 

Silence stretched out between them, punctuated only by the rain and thunder.

 

“I did not mean to pry, Varric,” Cassandra says, awkwardly.

 

Varric shrugs, then realizes Cassandra probably can’t see him. “It’s fine, Seeker.”

 

Bright white light shone through the curtains, followed by a crashing boom that vibrated the entire room.

 

“One hell of a storm out there,” Varric observes.

 

“We may be without power for a while yet,” Cassandra agrees, taking a bite out of her sandwich.

 

Silence settles over them like a blanket. Aimlessly, Cassandra twirls the ring around her finger, pulling it off and slipping it back on again.

 

“Does it bother you, Varric?” Cassandra asks, fixing him with a curious look, “This fake marriage.”

 

“It’s fake, so no. I’m not bothered. Are you, Seeker?”

 

“I would be lying if I said it did not,” Cassandra admits. “It seems a mockery of things I- others find important.”

 

Once more there was silence except for the foul weather outside the motel. Cassandra settles herself more comfortably against the plush headboard, gaze firmly kept away from Varric, fingers worrying at the wedding ring she still wore.

 

A knock sounded at the door, loud in the quiet of their motel room. Jumping up off the bed, Cassandra hurried over to the door, wineglass in hand.

 

“Who’s there?” Cassandra bent to look through the peephole. Varric had turned to look, when the knock came and had to remind himself that it was no business of his whether the Seeker had a nice ass.

 

Damn.

 

“Uh. Front desk? Sent me to tell you the power’s back on, ma’am. Sorry for the inconvenience.”

 

“Good. Thank you,” Cassandra says, turning away from the door to flick the lights back on.

 

“Well that’s a relief,” Varric sighs, hopping off the bed and installing himself at the table.

 

It had to be the wine, Varric figured. The wine, and being made to spend time together. That was all. The second they got out of here, everything would go back to normal. He’d stop noticing the Seeker’s eyes (or her smile, her legs, her hands), they’d stop almost having heart to hearts, and go back to taking pot shots at one another. Nice and normal.

 

Somehow that didn’t seem so appealing.

 

Cassandra stood by the door, watching Varric’s back as he arranged his workspace. The man always had to have things a certain way, Cassandra mused. Not everything, but the little things. Where a pen was, the way the paper was set out. Shaking her head, Cassandra sent Varric a fond look, then stopped cold, wondering at herself. When had she started thinking of Varric with fondness?

  
Settling down on her side of the bed, Cassandra opened Swords and Shields and began reading. Hopefully the morning would bring good news from the Inquisition.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Christ this one gave me a hard time. That's why it's been so long in coming. What the hell was I doing with the tenses? Thanks for the support, everyone!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get worse at the motel.

The morning did _not_ bring good news from the Inquisition. Instead it brought a very red faced Parker with the news that Ruffles and Nightingale hadn’t managed to smooth any ruffled feathers. There was the distinct possibility that Varric and Cassandra would be staying in the motel for a few more days, according to Parker. Not only that, but now that they were going to be at the motel longer than anticipated, Leliana and Ruffles had made a request.

 

Namely, that Cassandra and Varric make appearances outside the motel room, as a loving couple on their honeymoon.

 

Cassandra thanked Parker politely, ushered the young woman from the motel room, and promptly kicked the door once it had closed.

 

“Maker take this accursed motel!” Cassandra punctuated each word with a swift kick to the door, which was fast developing a dent.

 

“Temper, temper,” Varric teased, “Do you think the door’s had enough?”

 

Breathing heavily through her nose, Cassandra glared at Varric, and backed away from the door, hands clenched so tightly her knuckles were white.

 

“I’m not a child, Varric. I do not need to be scolded,” Cassandra hissed “Particularly by you!”

 

“The hell is that supposed to mean?” Varric said, outraged.

 

“You’re a self righteous ass!” Cassandra shouted “I think you enjoyed being my prisoner, since you may now lord it over me any time you like, playing the wounded party!”

 

“You did take me prisoner! You interrogated me! Threatened to stab me then dragged me all the way across the fucking continent!” Varric gestured towards Cassandra, “How the hell do you trust someone after that?”

 

“I saved your life, you shit!” Cassandra stormed across the room, “Countless times! What more do you want!?”

 

The question stopped Varric dead in his tracks. What the hell did he want? To be out of this stupid motel room, definitely. More than that, though, Varric realized. He wanted Kirkwall, and Hawke, and everyone who’d made life interesting. He wanted to be back in the Hanged Man, paying thugs to keep away from Daisy, and telling stories. Behind that, there was a deeper, more essential desire. The need to be touched, to be valued, to be...

 

“I don’t want anything from you, Seeker,” Varric said quietly. Hurt flashed across Cassandra’s face, a look that sent a sharp, bright jolt of pain through Varric’s heart.

 

“I see,” Cassandra’s face took on a stony expression. “Very well, Varric.”

 

Stomping into the bathroom, Cassandra slammed the door behind her, hoping to feel satisfied rather than immature. Leaning against the bathroom door, Cassandra rubbed her chest, heart aching. What had she expected? Overtures of friendship? Ridiculous. The twisting, sharp pain in her chest meant nothing. Sweeping her hair out of her face, Cassandra turned to open the bathroom door again, and faltered. Avoiding her reflection in the mirror, Cassandra pushed away from the door and started the bath running, water boiling hot. Dumping a scoopful of some scented powder into the water, Cassandra began undressing.

 

It was good to know where they stood, Cassandra told herself. At least this way she wouldn’t waste any time trying to unring bells. She and Varric were never going to be friends.

 

______________________

 

Shit. Shit. Varric mashed his face into his hands. Imagined telling Hawke “Well, I can add ‘hurt Cassandra Pentaghast’s feelings’ to my list of accomplishments.”

  
Hawke would probably have laughed at the idea of someone like him managing to inflict any kind of wound on the Seeker. Even she’d been impressed by Cassandra, near the end.

 

Life was always weirder than fiction, Varric knew. If he wrote something like this into one of his novels, it wouldn’t make it past his editor. In books, fights like that didn’t end with both people in different rooms with their regrets and bruised hearts. They ended with a passionate kiss, or an emotional revelation. Not this.

 

Not that he wanted to kiss Cassandra, of all people. How would that even work? She had to be at least a foot taller than he was.

 

Not that it mattered.

 

Varric picked up his pen, needing to distract himself from working out how to kiss Cassandra.

 

Not that he was seriously contemplating it.

 

Heaviness settled in his chest.

  
Was it wrong to want his life back, Varric wondered, pen scratching across the page. To want the life he’d had, before everything had gone to hell?

 

Varric sank further into his chair, pen suspended in midair. A cold finger of horror slid its way down his spine.

 

When the hell had he become his parents?

 

_________________________

  
  


Cassandra soaked in the tub until the water went cold, until the ache in her chest abated. The sooner they were freed from the motel, the better, Cassandra thought. Hopefully Josephine and Leliana were close to a solution. A better solution than “play lovers”. The sooner everything went back to normal, the better.

 

Toweling herself off and slipping back into her clothes, Cassandra stood at the mirror, wondering what the hell she and Varric were going to do. Particularly since according to Parker, they were meant to make an appearance outside the motel room as…

 

Grimacing at herself, Cassandra tried to think of other things. After the fight they’d had, would it be awkward sleeping in the same bed?

 

Perhaps she ought to sleep on the floor. Maker knew she’d slept in worse places.

 

A glimmer of light caught Cassandra’s eye, reminding her that she still wore the wedding ring.

  
It was still beautiful. The most beautiful thing she’d worn in years, and a symbol of falsehood. Married to Varric. As though that would ever work, it was so absurd no wonder Josie and Leliana had made it their cover story. She and Varric couldn’t even be civil to one another.

 

Sliding the wedding ring off her finger, Cassandra left it on the counter, feeling a little naked without it.

 

“Was beginning to worry you’d drowned or something, Seeker,” Varric said from his place at the table.

 

Before Cassandra could retort, Varric gestured at the food spread out on the table in front of him.

 

“Thought we ought to eat something,” he said gruffly.

 

The amount of food on the table was absurd. Halved grapefruit, syrups and jams, a large platter of waffles, golden slices of buttered toast, and fried eggs. A carafe of coffee sat next to Cassandra’s place setting, and a large jug of orange juice occupied the middle of the table.

 

Stoically ignoring the extended growling noise her stomach made, Cassandra sat down at the table.

 

“I was hungrier than I thought,” Cassandra admitted, pouring herself a cup of coffee.

 

They settled into a stiff silence, broken only by the clink of cutlery.

 

“Seeker?”

 

“Yes, Varric?” Cassandra said, calmly and coldly looking up from her plate.

 

“I- ah. Pass the cream?” Varric gestured at the little jug by Cassandra’s elbow.

 

Quietly, Cassandra slid the ceramic jug over.

 

“Thank you,” Varric said, glumly pouring cream into his coffee.

 

“You’re welcome.”

 

“Look, Seeker. About earlier?” Varric began.

 

“It does not matter, Varric,” Cassandra cut him off smoothly, “When this is over, everything will go back to the way it was.”

 

She was right, wasn’t she? That was what they both wanted, for this whole thing to be forgotten? Varric frowned, wondering why normal didn’t sound as appealing as it had. If you’d asked him a week ago if he’d miss the Seeker’s friendship, he’d have laughed. Now? Sitting at the table with Cassandra doing her best impression of an iceberg was making his heart sink.

 

Since they clearly weren’t going to talk, Varric let his mind and eyes wander. Midday light shone through a crack in the curtains, gilding the dishes on the table and warming Cassandra’s skin to gold. It wasn’t hard to see that Cassandra was a handsome woman. Even when she was righteously pissed at him. The play of light and shadow over the planes of her face was fascinating, especially where the light hit the still shiny scar tissue along Cassandra’s cheek.

 

Varric watched Cassandra sip her coffee, and wipe the corner of her mouth with her thumb. The warm morning light showed the thin scars and burn marks scattered across her hand, a dent in the flesh of her thumb from some old injury.

 

She wasn’t wearing her wedding ring.

 

The wedding ring. Not her wedding ring.

 

Fuck.

 

Rubbing his eyes tiredly, Varric looked up to see Cassandra scowling at him.

 

“You’re staring,” she said baldly.

 

“Never would a Tethras be caught doing something so rude as staring!” Varric said, faking astonishment.

 

It was probably wishful thinking, but the firm line of Cassandra’s mouth seemed to soften for a moment.

 

“I must have been mistaken,” Cassandra said, calmly spreading jam on a piece of toast, “To think you of all people would be rude.”

 

Varric chuckled, almost in spite of himself.

 

Maybe things weren’t so dire. The Seeker’s snide remarks were better than her silence.

 

____________________

 

The problem with Varric was that once you liked him, it was hard not to. He grew on you. Despite Cassandra’s best efforts, there were a few moments during their surprise breakfast where she’d almost laughed, almost encouraged him, before catching herself. He didn’t want anything from her. They weren’t friends.

 

With no conversation to distract her, Cassandra found herself studying Varric. His face was tolerably familiar to her now, craggy and dusted with red gold stubble. A healed scar on a nose that had been broken before. Flat cheekbones, and eyes that were much less shadowed than usual. Varric’s usual smirk was gone, replaced by a somber look that seemed out of place. He was a good looking man. Not that he was her type, of course. Short, burly, and hairy weren’t traits she looked for in a man, Cassandra reassured herself.

 

Objectively, it was easy to admit that Varric did have his own strange charm.

 

Glancing up from her examination of Varric’s hands, Cassandra caught his eye and immediately pretended she hadn’t. Especially since he’d clearly been staring.

 

Finishing her food, Cassandra loaded her dishes onto the small cart that had been left behind, presumably by housekeeping. It had been a good breakfast, and that Varric had made even a small gesture was a little surprising.

 

Thinking of Varric and their previous closeness soured Cassandra’s mood slightly- now she had to dress in the ridiculous outfit the Inquisition had sent, and pretend to simper over Varric while they mimicked a happily married couple. It would’ve been easier when they’d actually been talking. Now the thought of faking happiness was a lead weight around her neck.

 

“Seeker?” Varric’s voice jolted Cassandra out of her thoughts.

 

“Yes?”

 

“Earlier, what I said-” Varric started.

 

“You were very clear, Varric. I do not think we need to go over it again,” Cassandra said, imbuing her voice with a bland sort of iciness. “We need only to play the part the Inquisition has asked. No more.”

 

Excusing herself from the table, Cassandra crossed the room, putting as much space between herself and Varric as possible.

 

Taking several deep breaths to calm herself, Cassandra began moving through her warm up exercises, slow, purposeful movements that the Inquisitor had taught her. Quickly falling into the smooth rhythm of the motions, Cassandra felt a little calmer.

 

At least this would eat up some time, Cassandra thought, effortlessly shifting herself from one pose to the next.

 

_____________________

 

Cassandra was definitely still mad at him. In retrospect, hoping that a lavish breakfast would be enough of a peace offering showed how badly he’d underestimated her hurt feelings. Apologizing had also fallen flat. It didn’t help that the Seeker was the most stubborn, self righteous woman he’d ever met. He’d tried to apologize. If she wanted to stay mad, she could stay mad.

 

Varric slammed the remaining dishes back onto the cart. He’d tried, hadn’t he? What more could be done?

 

With a shove, Varric maneuvered the loaded cart towards the door, passing by Cassandra. Who was bent into a shape he hadn’t thought anyone physically capable of.

 

Damn.

 

Sweat already shone on Cassandra’s skin, straining muscles holding her in place. Between one shallow breath and the next, she bent slowly backwards, head touching the floor.

 

Reminding himself that ogling the Seeker could only make things worse, Varric tore his gaze away from the strip of skin revealed by Cassandra’s shirt, and shoved the cart into the hallway.

 

It was going to be a long day.

 

__________________________

 

Sighing, Cassandra closed her book and set it on the bedside table. Thus far, she’d fought with Varric, had a long bath, breakfast, stretched, run through some exercises, showered, cleaned her gun, and started the next chapter of Swords and Shields, and the day wasn’t even near to done. It felt as though she’d already lived through twice that amount of time, and they still hadn’t made their appearance outside as husband and wife.

 

Cassandra shot an envious glare at Varric. He’d been writing almost constantly since breakfast, and showed no obvious signs of boredom, or anxiety about the farce they were being asked to perform.

 

“What are you writing, Varric?” Cassandra swung herself up off the bed, and crossed the room to sit next to him. Professional distance be damned.

 

“Better not peek, Seeker,” Varric said tiredly.

 

“Is it the next Swords and Shields?” Cassandra asked, hating the way her heart sped up at the thought.

 

“No, it’s shit. Haven’t written more than three pages all day,” Varric said, crumpling the most recent page.

 

“Oh,” Disappointed, Cassandra sagged back in her chair.

 

“Seeker-”

 

“Varric-”

 

Cassandra snorted, and gestured for Varric to speak first.

 

“Seeker, look. We’re stuck here for at least a few more days, and we’re going to end up killing each other by dinner just to alleviate the tension if this keeps up.”  Varric extended a hand towards Cassandra, “Truce?”

 

“Truce,” Cassandra said, hoping her voice didn’t betray her relief.

 

They shook hands firmly, and possibly a little longer than needed.

 

“What are you working on?” Cassandra asked, turning some of the abandoned pages towards herself, “Is this the draft for Hard in Hightown? I thought you’d already written the sequel. It was shit, by the way.”

 

“Wasn’t me. Figured I may as well start writing the actual sequel,” Varric said, as Cassandra pored over the previous draft.

 

Relief was probably the wrong word for what he felt, Varric decided. They’d declared a truce, and the cold tension had vanished from the room, but that didn’t mean they were friends again. He was definitely glad to have Cassandra’s company, anyways.

 

Her head was bowed over the only decent parts of the first draft, dark hair falling across her forehead, brow just a little furrowed, the way it always did when Cassandra really concentrated on what she was reading.

 

“There’s a lot missing,” Cassandra said.

 

“What’s missing was so shit I’m surprised the paper wasn’t brown,” Varric said. Cassandra wrinkled her nose in disgust.

  
They were sitting close together, now. When the hell had he leaned in, Varric wondered, close enough to smell the flowery scent of shampoo from Cassandra’s hair.

 

“You have a way with words, Varric,” Cassandra said, in a way Varric chose to interpret as ‘admiring’.

 

“I am obscenely talented,” Varric replied, gratified when Cassandra laughed.

 

“You forgot modest, humble, self effacing,” Cassandra said.

 

“Swallow a thesaurus, Seeker?”

 

Cassandra, shockingly enough, met his eyes with something like shyness, which couldn’t be possible.

 

“I- have always had a hard time with words. They do not come easily to me,” she said, “Dorian gave me a word a day calendar, probably as a joke. It’s been helpful, though.”

 

Varric struggled to keep a straight face. A word a day calendar? Maker, it would be funny if she weren’t so serious.

 

Clearly something showed on his face, though, because Cassandra’s expression closed off.

 

“Seeker-”

 

“I did not tell you that,” Cassandra snapped.

 

“Seeker, we just agreed on a truce. A truce I suggested. I’m not about to piss you off again,” Varric said, “Especially not about something serious.”

 

Cassandra looked at him skeptically, which hurt a little. Did she really think he was the kind of person to mock her for trying to improve herself?

 

Well. Not that he hadn’t teased her in the past.

 

It had been in good fun though?

 

Shit.

 

Okay, maybe he was an asshole.

 

“I’m sorry about that, Seeker,” Varric said honestly.

 

After a few moments of silence, Cassandra’s mouth quirked up in a half smile.

“It’s fine, Varric. Unlike your story,” Cassandra gestured to the piles of paper scattered around the table.

 

“Low blow, Seeker!”

 

“I suggest we break for lunch. Perhaps that will help?” That strange, shy look was back, “You could talk your problems out, if you like.”

 

“That...is not a bad idea. It’s a date, Seeker,” Varric said, cheerfully.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with this fic, everyone!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassanda and Varric mend some fences and avoid an unwelcome interruption only to suffer another.

As though the word “date” had summoned her, Parker once again knocked at their door. Loaded down with packages and bags, she cheerfully chatted away; either oblivious to or ignoring the tension in the room.

 

Cassandra had disappeared into the bathroom, bearing a heavy looking bag and several boxes. As for Varric, while he appreciated Ruffles’ attention to detail, the clothes he’d been given were definitely too low key. Subtle patterns, earth tones? It was dull. Uninspired. Unlike him. Which was probably the point. Still, wearing a shirt properly buttoned felt stifling, and a little too close to looking like a respectable person.

 

Examining himself in the mirror, with his hair tied back and a pair of square framed black rimmed glasses, Varric gave himself a disgusted look. He looked less ‘Varric Tethras, renowned author’ and more ‘disenchanted librarian hipster’. It could be worse, all things considered. How Ruffles and Nightingale were planning on disguising the Seeker was a more interesting thought. She was the sort of woman who would be recognizable wearing a paper bag and covered in filth.

 

Behind him, the bathroom door clicked open.

 

“So what atrocity did they find for you?” Varric asked, turning to face Cassandra and abruptly losing his train of thought.

  
“Not one word, Varric,” she warned, awkwardly adjusting the cropped white jacket she wore over a flowing maxi dress the colour of a summer sky. Loosely clutched in one hand was a large, floppy straw hat.

 

With poise that reminded Varric she’d been born noble, Cassandra picked up the dragging hem of her dress and revealed dainty white sandals, and toes painted a soft seashell pink.

 

“Are your toes painted, Seeker?” Varric asked, incredulity colouring his voice.

 

“Is it important, Varric? Come, let us get this charade over with,” Cassandra said impatiently. “The sooner, the better.”

 

The dress swished when she walked, Varric noted, and the little white jacket drew attention to the fact that the Seeker had _curves_.

 

Andraste’s tits.

 

Cassandra shot an impatient look over her shoulder, and that broke whatever spell Varric had been under. The look was so very _Cassandra._ Despite the new clothes, and the way the dress draped over her, it was still the Seeker. Obstinate, ill tempered, spiky Cassandra.

 

Jamming the large straw hat on her head, the brim of which flopped coquettishly over one eye, Cassandra unlocked the door.

 

“Forgetting something, Seeker?” Varric gestured at the gold band on his left ring finger.

 

Muttering obscenities, Cassandra walked back into the bathroom, and returned with the hated wedding band pinched between two fingers.

 

“Shit!” Tripping over the long hemline of her dress, Cassandra caught herself against the dresser.

 

“Graceful as a gazelle, Seeker,” Varric said, bending to pick her ring up from where it had fallen. “Here you are.”

 

Cassandra looked down at him, expression caught between frustration and something else. Embarrassment? Varric looked up at her, then down at himself and reconsidered the wisdom of being on one knee handing her a ring.

 

Wordlessly, Varric stood up, knees creaking. With a rueful look, he dropped the ring in Cassandra’s outstretched hand, fingertips brushing her palm.

 

“After you, Mrs-”  
  


“Shut. Up. Varric,” Cassandra grated out, blushing slightly as she swept past him and out the door.

 

****

 

“But that doesn’t make sense! No guard would do such a thing, especially-”

 

“Artistic license, Seeker. Otherwise the story doesn’t work!” Varric interrupted, “If Talbot doesn’t lie about the motive, then there’s no story!”

 

“Then it’s bad writing!” Cassandra said emphatically, slicing the air with a hand, “Why not give him something more _interesting_ as a motivation?”

 

“Like what? I mean, if he thinks his partner committed the crime, why not lie about it?” Varric demanded.

  
Grabbing another slice of pizza, Cassandra chewed thoughtfully before answering.

 

“He just suddenly thinks his partner is guilty? Varric even you must see that’s absurd. Give him some sort of... reason why. Make him a zealot of some kind. Someone who believes everyone is guilty until proven innocent,” Cassandra said. “Someone who has a guilty conscience and so sees guilt in everyone?”

 

“That’s a bit complex for Hard in Hightown, Seeker,” Varric said, “But it’s not a bad idea.”

 

“Well, I don’t read Hard in Hightown, not since you-”

 

“Killed off my favourite character in chapter three!” they said in unison.

 

“I am a cruel, cruel man,” Varric said smugly.

 

It hadn’t been a bad day, he thought. The weather was warm, the sky was clear and blue. Golden sunlight shone down on everything, and Cassandra was tearing his book to shreds.

 

The Seeker was a woman of strong opinions, and arguing with her about the Hard in Hightown series was invigorating.

 

They both avoided mentioning the morning’s fight, though it was obvious they both wished it hadn’t happened.

 

Gulls soared above them, stark white against the vivid blue of the sky. Water rushed the shore, and retreated again. The wind was warm, tinged with the smell of the sea. It caught the fluttering edges of Cassandra’s dress, and Varric caught another glimpse of long legs, and her strappy sandals. Cassandra herself let out an annoyed grunt and tucked the diaphanous blue fabric back underneath her. Her toes poked out from under the dress’ hem in a way that Varric refused to think of as cute. Particularly with her toenails painted that soft pink.

 

Had she painted them for today, or did she paint them all the time? Did she choose the pink herself or was it the best of the terrible options she’d been faced with?

 

He didn’t know, and for some reason that bothered him.

 

Cassandra swung her legs, and again her toes peeped out from under the long hem of her dress.

 

“So, Seeker. About your toes. Do you paint them normally or did you get strict instructions to paint them under penalty of death?” Varric asked, curiosity piqued.

 

“I- oh, _Maker_!”

  
Squinting at something over his shoulder, Cassandra plastered a soft grin on her face, and leaned in closer.

 

The brim of her hat disguised their faces, and Varric supposed that to any onlookers, they might look like a couple embracing.

 

“The clerk from the motel is walking towards us,” Cassandra whispered.

 

Cassandra’s words didn’t quite sink in; Varric had to admit he was distracted. The deep vee of her neckline dipped a little wider when she’d leaned forwards, revealing a few more inches of tantalizing olive skin.

 

“Hell.”

 

It had taken monumental effort not to let his eyes drift downwards, but he’d failed. Luck was on his side, however. Cassandra seemed to interpret his comment as dismay at the clerk’s arrival.

 

“He is appalling. If he makes one more disgusting comment about our-” Cassandra paused, wrinkling her nose “ _bedroom habits_ …”

 

Cassandra’s gaze flicked to his face, then back over his shoulder.

 

“Perhaps he won’t speak with us…” she muttered, then “Andraste...he’s coming this way!”

 

“Here, lean in closer and wrap your arm around my neck,” Varric said. “Try to resist the urge to strangle me.”

 

Cassandra gave Varric a suspicious look, pulling back to glower at him.

 

Varric sighed. Of course she couldn’t simply trust him.

 

“If he thinks we’re …embracing... he won’t bother us,” Varric clarified. “We look like a passionate pair of newlyweds, and we don’t have to talk to Captain Cadaverous over there.”

 

When Cassandra still didn’t move, Varric rolled his eyes.

 

“I promise to be a gentleman, Seeker. Can I put my arm around you?”

 

In response, Cassandra looped her arm about Varric’s neck, easing herself closer.

 

“You may touch me.”

 

Wasn’t that a helluva way to put it? Varric marvelled, bringing one of his hands up to rest against her back. At a loss for what to do with his other hand, he let it settle against Cassandra’s fabric swathed hip.

 

“Can you see him?”

 

“Who? Oh. The clerk.” Cassandra sounded a little breathless. Varric tightened his grip on her hip, feeling the soft cotton bunch beneath his fingers.

 

“What’s he doing?” Varric asked.

 

A small shift of his arm drew Cassandra even closer, the movement dislodging the fabric trapped beneath Varric’s hand. The bare skin of Cassandra’s back pressed against his palm.

 

“That’s a low cut dress you’ve got there, Seeker,” Varric remarked.

 

Instead of the sharp tongued response he’d expected, something interesting happened.

 

Colour tinted the Seeker’s face. With a perverse sense of curiosity, Varric curled his fingers against her skin.

 

Cassandra’s blush deepened by a few shades.

 

Her slim fingers dipped below the collar of his shirt, thumb stroking his jaw in a way that was becoming terribly distracting.

 

Positive she could feel the way his pulse was speeding up, Varric tried to think about anything other than the way Cassandra was pressed up against him.

 

As though they were lovers.

 

“He’s looking this way,’ Cassandra murmured, her lips brushing Varric’s ear. “Started walking towards us, but now he’s stopped. I think he’s debating whether to interrupt.”

 

Cassandra’s slow, even breaths whispered along the sensitive skin of Varric’s neck. Loose tendrils of her hair tickled his face, and almost close enough for him to touch was the warm skin of her throat, with its throbbing pulse. All he needed to do was lean forward an inch or so, and that soft skin would be under his mouth.

 

Maker’s balls.

 

Shifting to hide his sudden discomfort, Varric was grateful he hadn’t suggested Cassandra sit on his lap.

 

This whole plan had seemed much smarter before he’d realized how damn vital and attractive the Seeker was.

 

They were sitting cheek to cheek now, Cassandra’s breasts pressed against his chest. Varric swallowed heavily, and tried to think of other things.

 

_Nugs and their creepy little feet. Knight Commander Meredith. Andraste._

 

Cassandra fidgeted against him, and Varric realized that he’d absentmindedly begun stroking her back. He stopped, fingers just below the edge of her dress’ back.

 

“Sorry, Seeker. Wasn’t thinking,” Varric said, mouth dry.

 

Cassandra’s fingernails pricked his shoulder in a reflexive movement as Varric drew his hand back up to a safe place on her back.

 

Her thumb still stroked a path along his jaw, always stopping just a little short of his lips.

 

Andraste’s sainted ass, it was distracting.

 

“Is he gone?” Varric asked.

 

“He smiled at us, and seemed ready to walk by,” Cassandra murmured against his cheek.

 

“Seeker-” Varric began, then stopped short.

 

What the hell was he about to ask her? The way his pulse pounded, the way every breath, every touch from her seemed to singe his skin. Was he going to ask if she felt the same?

 

One of Cassandra’s hands cupped the back of his head, fingers spearing through his hair.

 

They were still pressed chest to chest.

 

Whose heartbeat was that, Varric wondered. Whose heart was hammering harder?

 

“Cassandra-”

 

Varric’s thumb moved in short, smooth circles against Cassandra’s hipbone. Ever so slightly, she moved into his touch. Emboldened, Varric turned his head. His nose pressed against her cheekbone, his lips barely grazing her jaw.

 

Ignoring the way his hand trembled, Varric cupped it against Cassandra’s neck.

 

Her pulse thrummed against his fingers.

 

She turned her head, and their lips just touched.

 

“Kiss me,” Varric murmured against her mouth.

 

A moment’s agonizing hesitation, and then Cassandra’s lips moved against his, her hands tilted his head upwards as his gathered her closer.

 

She sighed, or maybe he did. Their open mouths smeared together, her fingers dug into his flesh almost painfully as the kiss deepened.

 

The world faded away until some yahoo let out an ear-piercing wolf whistle.

 

Cassandra jerked away as though scalded. Gently disentangling herself from Varric’s arms, she set about straightening her dress. Her face and neck were bright crimson.

 

“Seeker-”

 

“The clerk is gone. It was a good diversion,” Cassandra said.

 

She hadn’t met his eyes since they’d stopped kissing.

 

“A diversion?” Varric said, bristling.

 

“Yes. That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it? What we wanted? A good distraction, something to keep up the pretense of our being married,” Cassandra said. Just as brusque and no-nonsense as always.

 

As though they’d never kissed and she hadn’t practically climbed into his lap.

 

Of course. Of course she’d just been doing her duty rather than kissing him because she actually _cared._ Not that he wanted her to care _,_  Varric chided himself, unsure of who to be angry at.

 

Hadn’t she said it just this morning? _When this is over, everything will go back to the way it was._

 

Maker, hadn't he told her he didn't want anything from her?

 

What the hell was he doing, anyways? Kissing Cassandra like that was foolish. There was Bianca to think of, and the promise of friendship that had bloomed between himself and the Seeker.

 

“It was one hell of a distraction,” Varric conceded, keeping his tone as light and airy as he could. “The theatre missed out on a helluva actress when you decided to become a Seeker.”

 

Cassandra’s shoulders slumped forwards just for a fraction of a second.

 

“It was unfortunate,” she said “But necessary.”

 

A strangeness in her tone caused Varric to chance another look, but Cassandra’s floppy hat hid her face from him.

 

“Whoever whistled is a fucking tool,” Varric commented.

 

Cassandra shifted, lifting one graceful hand which disappeared under the brim of her hat. The gesture brought the floppy hat brim to a higher position, exposing the lower half of Cassandra’s face again. Since there was no way for her to know, Varric stared; watching the fading sunlight glide across her skin, gilding the elegant column of her throat.

 

Despite all his poetic thoughts about the sun and her skin, Varric was thinking less poetic things about her lips, the warmth with which she’d kissed him.

 

Lips currently pressed into neutrality.

 

“Seeker,” Varric began, before realizing he had no idea how to go on.

 

Cassandra sat still, facing the ocean. The only movement about her was her dress, whipped by the wind.

 

Fuckssake.

 

“Checking into a motel under an assumed name, pretending to be married, disguises? My editor would laugh me out of her office if I wrote something like this.”

 

After a moment’s consideration, Varric amended that statement.

 

“Hell, if I sent her in a story like this, she’d call me into her office just to laugh me out of it.”

 

Cassandra’s mouth tried to smile.

 

“No one would ever believe this. Probably why Nightingale and Ruffles came up with it,” Varric said.

 

Cassandra didn’t reply, but the corner of her mouth quirked up.

 

“Everyone’s going to go crazy trying to figure out where we really were, what the real story is,” Varric warmed to his topic. “We could tell them we spent a fortnight pretending to be married, in Thedas’ kitschiest motel, and when they don’t believe us we can tell them a real story.”

 

Cassandra turned her head, eyes still hidden by her hat’s brim. Her mouth smiled, but it seemed flat.

 

“You make everything into a grand tale, Varric. Truth be damned.”

 

“They’re my stories, Seeker. My truths.”

 

“What would your truth be, Varric? For this story. How would you tell it?” Cassandra asked.

 

There was a chill and a heaviness in the air that couldn’t be blamed only on the weather.

 

Varric rubbed his chin, more for something to do than any pretense towards thoughtfulness.

 

“Could go a lot of ways, Seeker. Detective story- two fugitives wrongly accused pretend to be a couple in order to throw the villains off their trail. Maybe go comedic- due to a diplomatic gaffe, two near strangers have to fake a marriage in order to go incognito,” Varric said, settling into the role of storyteller.

 

“A member of the Dwarven Merchant’s Guild, head of a vast empire, and a fierce warrior woman, heir to the throne of a foreign country find themselves forced to feign marriage. Trapped together in order to fight a villain who threatens them both.”

 

Varric stopped, and searched his pockets. “Shit, nothing to write with. That last one could make a good book, with some tweaks.”

 

“You left out a few genres, Varric. Besides, it could make a good plot point for-”

 

“Don’t even say it, Seeker. I can see you thinking what you’re thinking and no!”

 

“The next Swords and Shields. The Knight-Commander and her lover would suit that sort of story,” Cassandra said, with that strange note in her voice.

 

“Seeker, you’re the only one who reads that crap anymore,” Varric threw his hands up in the air. “Romance is not my strong suit.”

 

“I would never have guessed,” Cassandra said.

 

Varric laughed, then hopped down off the sea wall.

  
“C’mon then, Seeker. I’ll buy us some ice cream.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for reading this! Finally they get out of the motel, and up to no good. <3


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassandra and Varric go for a walk and invoke the dangers of narrative causality.

Cassandra tripped daintily along the boardwalk, hating every second of it. The delicate white sandals Josephine and Leliana had included with her disguise were lovely things, but not made for a woman used to walking with purpose, and with her feet squarely on the ground. Even if she did revert to her natural stride, her legs tangled in the fabric which billowed and belled out around her legs. The dress, much as she normally shunned such things, was acceptable. Plain enough, but the amount of fabric had (at first) made her feel she was donning a circus tent. Now, with the salt air of the ocean stirring her hair and her skirts, and the promise of storms in the air, Cassandra felt satisfied.

A strange thing to feel, having just kissed Varric Tethras

Thinking of Varric seemed to summon him back to her side, bearing two ice cream cones beginning to melt in the evening’s heat.

 

“Thank you, Varric,” Cassandra said, accepting one of the heavily laden cones with bemusement.

 

“I thought we could use something to cool us down,” Varric replied. He seemed unaffected by what he’d just said, strolling along and eating his ice cream.

 

Occasionally, passerby would smile softly at them. Mostly older couples, walking along the boardwalk together. Believing she and Varric were really a couple. That they shared more than just feelings of friendship for one another.

Having kissed Varric, it was hard to pretend she hadn’t wanted to. Hadn’t felt the strong, surprising pull of arousal at his touch. Mind flashing back to the sensation of his hand against her skin, Cassandra blushed, then frowned at herself. A quick glance at Varric showed he hadn’t noticed, and for that she felt grateful, and a little sad.

They had kissed, and it had been a ruse. A story. It meant nothing to her, and it certainly meant nothing to him, Cassandra told herself.

She knew of Bianca, the dwarven woman Varric loved. It was almost a perfect story. Two lovers, torn apart by ruthless family members. Forbidden to see one another under pain of death. Not for her, but for Varric. It was romantic, Cassandra mused. Unless you were involved with it yourself. Or cared for one of the people suffering.

 

“Seeker, you’re making a mess,” Varric’s sardonic voice intruded on her thoughts.

 

“Oh, what? Damn-”

 

Ice cream was dripping down her hand, tracing a sticky path to her wrist. Switching the ice cream to her other hand, Cassandra brought her fingers up to her mouth, and licked up the trail of ice cream that was endangering her sleeve.

 

“Uh, Seeker?” Clearing his throat, Varric produced a crumpled sheaf of napkins from a pocket.

 

Cassandra traded him her ice cream for a few napkins, and tidied herself, feeling a little foolish. Only with Varric would such a thing happen. He seemed to bring her worst attributes to the surface. With him, she was (if possible) more hot headed, more prone to embarrassing moments or putting her foot in her mouth. Not that she wasn’t much the same with the rest of the Inquisition. But they had in time settled down. Come to find even footing. With Varric, it felt as though she were always a little off kilter.

At that moment, the dainty heel of Cassandra’s left sandal caught in a gap between the boardwalk’s wooden slats. She lurched forward, bracing herself for the fall about to come.

Instead, warm, sturdy arms wrapped around her waist, and she found herself plastered to Varric’s chest.

Both ice cream cones lay splattered on the ground, and Cassandra’s left ankle ached. Both things were insignificant compared to the feel of Varric holding her so tightly.

 

“Thank you, Varric,” Cassandra said, her lips brushing the soft skin of his neck.

 

Pushing herself up and away from Varric, Cassandra hiked her skirt up and bent to free her sandal, only to find that the heel had separated from the sole.

Gritting her teeth in annoyance, Cassandra undid the strap and slid her foot out from the ruined shoe. An angry red mark marred her ankle.

Prying the sandal loose, Cassandra looked at it in dismay. There was no way it would last her for the walk back down the boardwalk to the motel. Either she could hobble, or she could go barefoot.

A small, disgruntled noise escaped her. Varric, blast him, grinned at her.

Inspiration struck, and feeling proud of herself for killing two birds with one stone, Cassandra smiled.

 

“Come. We will walk along the beach,” Cassandra said.

 

Gathering up the trailing hem of her dress, and her shoes, Cassandra clambered over the small railing and landed in the soft sand on the other side.

Varric stood still, gaping. Cassandra dug her toes into the sand, waiting for him to join her. Gusts of wind tore at her dress, and her hat.

She had kissed Varric. The thought came back, and Cassandra felt a little wild at the edges. It was unlike her, to feel so. Of course, none of this was like her. Not wearing a dress, or standing barefoot in the sand while the ocean and the wind whipped into a frenzy around her, or kissing a man she was sure didn’t care for her.

Varric finally recovered from his shock, and vaulted over the railing. Landing gracefully, he took a few steps towards her, and then stopped.

He was taking his own shoes off. A little self-consciously, if the redness across his cheeks was any sign. Cassandra watched him strip his socks off and wad them into the toes of his shoes. It had never occurred to her that Varric might feel awkward about anything. He was a man who exuded confidence. No matter the situation, he was always so self-assured. Unaware of her gaze, Varric rolled the cuffs of his pants up, then did the same with his sleeves. The entire procedure was oddly endearing. Not that Cassandra would’ve said anything.

Warm sand slid against her feet. Cassandra gathered the diaphanous fabric of her dress, hiking it up enough that it no longer tangled around her legs. Sandals dangling from one hand, she started towards the shoreline, where the waves were crashing against the sand. Some small, frivolous part of Cassandra reveled in the wildness of the day. This was what it felt like to be one of the heroines in her books.

She turned, and saw Varric coming down the beach. His hair coming loose from the bun he’d tied it in, sleeves rolled up around his elbows, and a strange smile on his face.

He looked different. Not just in a way the change of hairstyle and clothes could excuse. Cassandra narrowed her eyes, trying to pinpoint what exactly it was. The wind picked up, and long tendrils of Varric’s hair were blown into his face. He stopped, frowned, and pulled the elastic from his hair. All of which was immediately caught in the breeze and tangled around his head in a gingery cloud. Varric swore (whatever he said was obscured by the wind), and set about putting his hair back in order.

Somewhere between when he pushed his hair back from his face, and when he finally tied it back, Cassandra’s heart clenched tight.

Andraste. She found Varric attractive.

Varric had finally subdued his hair, and was drawing ever closer. Cassandra watched him, and it was odd how, having admitted she found him attractive, suddenly her mind couldn’t stop noticing him. Surely she’d seen his feet before, or his legs. How was it then, that she was admiring the turn of his ankle? Or the way his wrists and hands fit together? There was something about Varric’s exposed arms that was making her feel a little warm.

Turning, Cassandra let her dress down, wanting the cover of all that cloth. The wind blowing in from the ocean was chilly, refreshing compared to the heat of the day, and the sudden flush of heat she felt.

 

 

****

 

Shitting hell.

Varric took his time walking towards Cassandra, fighting to walk slowly, to act normally. Her blue dress flared behind her, caught in the wind like a flag. Every breeze drew the fabric tight around her body, or swept it up to expose her long legs. Just a hint, a teasing glimpse of smooth skin and strong muscles.

Cassandra walked like a soldier. No one could see her and think she was anything else. It was clear in the square set of her shoulders, the perfection of her posture. Her scars and muscles were secondary. Cassandra was a warrior down to her soul. He’d hated that at first, then he’d found it amusing. Someone so very much themselves, so passionate about their causes? It made him uncomfortable. She’d seemed untouchable, self-righteous, and short tempered. None of that had changed, except that they had.

He had.

Cassandra was more than the martinet he’d seen her as. She was tough, stubborn, and occasionally brash, but alongside that she could be considerate, funny, warm. If she was hard, if she was rash, it was because she cared too damn strongly.

He was drawing closer to her now, and she was watching him. Her face was hidden by the shadow cast by her hat, but he could feel it nonetheless.

The ocean threw itself at her feet, her dress was a banner in the wind, and all he could do was stare. Cassandra, framed by the livid sky, was beautiful.

They’d kissed. He’d held her close, had molded his hands around her body, felt the heat that burned beneath her skin.

And it had been a lie.

A distraction, a way for them to convince others that their cover was real.

That was why Ruffles and Leliana had paired them, why they’d come up with this damn plan in the first place. No one would ever expect that he and Cassandra would be lovers. Even in plain sight, no one pointed and exclaimed at the Hero of Orlais, Right Hand of the Divine. They looked at her, looked at him, and decided that they must be wrong.

Maker’s ass.

He’d thought Bianca had hurt him. That was a paper cut compared to this, compared to the gaping wound that had just opened in his chest.

His eyes met with Cassandra’s. A small smile played about her mouth as she watched him approach. There was something fond in her expression, in the way she stood still amidst the fury of nature and his own feelings. Untouched by all of them.

Unable to help himself, Varric felt his face twitch into an answering smile.

Cassandra turned her back to him, her shoulders stiff.

Grief caught hold of Varric’s heart, and twisted.

He’d been happier not knowing why the Seeker had such an easy time getting under his skin. Then, he could’ve fired off a sarcastic barb and not felt a thing. Then, all he’d seen was the Seeker. Now, it was only Cassandra.

 

“Better get walking before it rains,” Varric said. It was inane, and it wasn’t what he wanted to say, but everything else seemed to get trapped in his throat.

 

Cassandra looked up, squinted at the dark clouds that rushed forwards to fill the sky.

Her nose wrinkled, and Varric wanted to kiss it.

 

“It’s not going to rain,” she said, looking puzzled when Varric barked out a laugh.

 

“We’re screwed now,” he said darkly. “Don’t you know better than tempting fate, Seeker?”

 

Varric gestured at the beach, glad to have something to think about other than how adorable Cassandra looked when she was humouring him.

 

“Narrative causality demands that any time a character says something like What’s the worst that could happen? or It couldn’t whatever, that thing has to happen. It’s how I’d write it,” Varric told her.

 

Above them, the clouds gathered ominously.

A low rumble shook the air.

Varric sighed, and gave Cassandra a pointed look.

 

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you, Seeker.”

 

“I’m sure we’ll-” Cassandra said.

 

“Don’t you dare-”

 

“-be fine,” Cassandra finished.

 

Thunder cracked through the air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The lovely, talented NoisyKid has drawn Cassandra and Varric's kiss from the last chapter! If you haven't seen it, I really think you should because it's gorgeous! 
> 
> http://noisykid.tumblr.com/post/121019481915/felt-stupid-inspired-by-this-fanfic-suite
> 
> Go look! It's so cute!
> 
> Thanks as always to everyone for reading and supporting me! You are all fantastic.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Varric regrets invoking the laws of narrative causality, and ought to know better.

“You had to say it, didn’t you?” Varric bellowed through the pelting rain.

 

Cassandra laughed, clutching her hat in one hand as she ran.

 

Rain fell in opaque sheets around them, obscuring everything more than three feet away. It was the first time Varric could remember seeing it rain sideways. Thunder boomed, light flashed in the dark clouds that lay heavily in the sky. Wind whipped Cassandra’s long dress around her legs.

 

“It’s freezing!” Cassandra gasped.

 

A wave crashed angrily against the shore, water and sand spraying out to douse them in frigid, salty water.

 

“At least-” Varric started to say.

  
Cassandra frowned at him, before understanding dawned and she groaned.

 

They raced down the beach, soaked to the skin with the wind tearing at their clothes. When Varric’s breath came back, he shot Cassandra a shit-eating grin and finished his sentence.

 

“At least it can’t get any worse!”

 

“Varric!” Cassandra glared at him, “What about your precious narrative causality?”

 

Only Cassandra would stop in the middle of a cataclysmic thunderstorm to scold him, Varric thought. Of course, it probably said something terrible about him that he was enjoying it.

 

“Consider this an experiment, Seeker!” Varric called out, already jogging down the beach.

 

The wind carried her curse straight to his ears.

 

“Language, Seeker!”

  
  


That time, she definitely meant for him to hear her.

 

In no time at all, she’d caught up to him. Her laughter rang through the air as the ocean beat itself furiously against the shore.

 

Cassandra flicked her gaze up and down his body, before grinning and bolting away.

 

Spurts of sand flared out behind her as she ran through the rain, not bothering to look back and see if he was following.

 

He was. Varric dashed down the beach after her, while thunder roared in the distance. Cassandra was just visible a few feet ahead of him, her blue dress rippling like water against her skin.

 

She was beautiful, radiant. A goddess of storms and battle brought to earth.

 

Cassandra looked back at him, and her exultant gaze met his. Reaching out, Varric caught her hand, anchoring her to solid ground. Suddenly, he had the irrational feeling that she might be carried away by the storm. Carried up and away, and far from him. Cassandra’s fingers were cold against his skin, as was her body through the wet fabric of her dress. She looked down at him in surprise, at her hand captured in his, and his hand resting on her waist.

 

Cold fingers touched his face. Cassandra’s hand brushed the tangled mess of wet hair back from his forehead. Her hand dropped to his shoulder, as though it were natural for it to rest there. A strange little smile played about her mouth, different from her wildness as they’d run down the beach.

 

He wanted to kiss her again.

 

“We made it,” Cassandra said.

 

“What?”

 

“Look. The motel is just there.” Cassandra took her hand from his shoulder to point at a fuzzy looking neon sign in the distance.

 

The pink sign was a ludicrous smear against the grey landscape. The sight of it should’ve been welcome. Instead, Varric found himself resenting it. The sign’s reality had broken the spell that lay over the beach. Cassandra’s fingers slipped from his, as she stepped out of the circle of his arms. Suddenly, Varric found himself hyper aware of how cold it was, with the rain still pelting down. Cassandra was pale, her lips faintly blue.

 

“I’m sure our dying of exposure would make a lot of people happy, but I’d rather live,” Varric said. “Out of sheer spite.”

 

Cassandra chuckled. Squinting against the rain, she gestured at something Varric couldn’t see.

 

“There are stairs over there, they should lead up to where the boardwalk starts.”

 

“Seeker, I just had a thought,” Varric said. “This is our chance to run away from that pastel nightmare and into the arms of a real hotel.”

 

“Leliana’s agents would find us, and Josephine would locate an even more appalling motel for us to hide in,” Cassandra replied. “I do not want to find out how a motel can be worse than this.”

 

“Fair point,” Varric said with a shudder.

 

They plodded across the wet sand, hunched against the wind and the rain. Crossing the short stretch of beach towards the stairs seemed to take longer than the entire mad run down the beach. The rain was more piercing, the cold more acute. Cassandra burst out in a flurry of sneezes.

 

“You know, I think the rain is slowing,” Cassandra said as they walked along the sidewalk to the motel.

 

Varric sighed, looking up at the sky.

 

“Is that hail?”

 

It was, of course, hail. Cassandra sent him an apologetic look as they were pelted with small balls of ice.

 

“Run to the motel?”

 

Varric nodded and began jogging behind Cassandra as they dashed madly down the street and burst through the motel’s front doors.

 

The utterly bewildered look the clerk bestowed on them sent Cassandra and Varric into peals of laughter.

 

Wiping rivulets of water from his face, Varric chanced a glance at Cassandra, and found her looking back at him with a smile on her face.

 

She was soaked to the skin, her hair flattened against her skull. Eye makeup smeared halfway to her temples, and her dress was sodden and limp. She was by far the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

 

The clerk was looking on benevolently, and conscious of his gaze, Varric took up Cassandra’s hand. Which was his first mistake.

 

Cassandra looked down at him, then darted a quick look at the clerk. Leaning towards him, she pressed a kiss against Varric’s temple, and gave him a dazzling grin.

 

The change in the air between them was more than palpable. Just the press of her lips against his skin was enough to reignite the flame in his blood. He wanted to kiss her again, to feel her move and shift against him. To run his hands across every inch of her, and discover how she liked to be touched.

 

Pink flared across Cassandra’s cheeks as they continued to stare at eachother.

 

Her lips parted, and Varric could hear the soft sigh of her breath. He was still holding her hand, and his other palm itched with the urge to reach out and touch her; to cup the soft skin of her face.

 

“ Excuse me, Mr and Mrs-”

 

Varric turned to glare at the interruption. The younger clerk took a step back, the towels he held sagging from his hand.

 

“Uh. Towels?” He waved them in the air like a flag of truce.

 

“That was kind of you,” Cassandra told him. Taking one of the towels for herself, she passed the other to Varric.

 

“No problem at all, ma’am, sorry to uh. Interrupt,” the clerk stammered, retreating to the safety of the check in desk.

 

Reality reasserted itself over Varric’s thunderous need. It was all a show. Everything was pretend, and if it seemed like maybe things were real? Then that was just wishful thinking on his part.

 

Not for the first time, Varric hoped that Ruffles and Nightingale would come up with a solution soon.

  
  


****

 

Cassandra felt lightheaded as they walked in silence down the hall. Maybe it could be blamed on ebbing adrenaline, but if she were to be (painfully) honest with herself, she knew that wasn’t it. In the lobby, the way Varric had stared up at her. The buzz of anticipation when he’d taken her hand and she’d been certain he was about to kiss her again. Maker, she’d wanted him to.

 

The kiss she’d brushed against his temple had been heady. That close, she could smell him. Salt and cool air, and something that sent a hot current of lust running through her body. Whatever it was, it was particular to Varric.

 

The dwarf seemed irritatingly calm in comparison. He strolled down the hall with such nonchalance that you almost forgot he was soaked to the skin, and every step left behind a puddle.

 

Of course, he had nothing to worry about. Her feelings were one-sided, doomed.

 

It was an unusually maudlin thought, one that soured her mood.

 

“I see what must be done, and I do it.”

 

Her bold words to the Inquisitor echoed in her mind, taunting her.

 

There was nothing to do, nothing.

 

Varric unlocked the door to their room. His fingers fumbled at the buttons to his shirt, which landed on the floor with a squelch. The undershirt beneath it was soaked, the white fabric transparent.

 

As Cassandra watched, Varric slipped his hair loose from the tie and ran his fingers through it. His hair darkened to a ruddy auburn, slicked back from his forehead and curling around his neck.

 

Cassandra’s mouth felt dry. She felt like a voyeur. Her broken sandals fell from nerveless fingers to clatter on the tiled threshold. Varric turned to give her a curious look. She might not be graceful, but she was never clumsy. By the Maker’s Grace, this whole situation was becoming absurd.

 

Feeling like she had to do something, Cassandra peeled herself out from the white jacket. It joined her sandals on the floor. Bending to gather handfuls of her dress, Cassandra felt eyes following her movement. Looking up, she froze half bent over. Varric’s eyes were fixed on the low neck of her dress. Until he realized she was watching, and his gaze switched to something over her shoulder.

 

Maker’s balls. They were adults. If there was an...attraction between them, surely it could be handled in a more mature fashion.

 

Cassandra straightened, long swathes of wet fabric draped over her forearm. The gathered fabric revealed a somewhat shocking amount of leg.

 

Varric’s attention came back, and Cassandra could see him watching the movement of her legs as she walked towards the bathroom door.

 

“Undo me?” Cassandra asked, stepping into the bathroom and leaving the door open.

 

Out of Varric’s sight, her hands shook. Dropping the gathered bundle of fabric back down, Cassandra strode to the sink and began clearing the smudged eye makeup from her face.

 

Was that enough of a hint? Was it too little? Did she want him to come in, and what would that mean?

 

He wouldn’t come in. She hadn’t been clear, hadn’t been herself. Why would he think she was attracted to him, anyways? After one kiss, meant to be meaningless except as a distraction?

 

Cassandra towelled her face dry, cursing herself for being seven kinds of stupid.

 

Varric cleared his throat behind her.

 

Cassandra’s heart began trying to claw its way up her throat. She turned, both hands braced on the cool marble countertop.

 

****

 

Varric had never been so afraid of a door in his entire life. Behind it was the woman he wanted, but couldn’t have, clad in nothing more than a dress. A dress which was soaking wet, and clung to her body in interesting ways.

 

He’d only meant to take a peek. The door had swung open, and his heartbeat sped. Cassandra’s dress was slipping off her shoulders, the entire thing held in place by a zipper, and a prayer. Certainly not one of his prayers.

 

His brain was still trying to work out what she’d meant by inviting him into the bathroom. Sex? A confession of undying love? Maybe she did need help with the zipper. Hell, knowing the Seeker’s practical streak, she was probably about to suggest one of them take the shower, while the other took the bath.

 

That was probably it.

 

Varric sighed, and when Cassandra didn’t turn around, he cleared his throat.

 

She jumped. Any other time, that would’ve been hilarious. But now? Ancestors, the look she was giving him chased any sort of coherent thought from his head.

 

“You need a hand with your dress?” Varric heard himself say.

 

He and Cassandra stared at one another, before a small smile bloomed on her face. Any other woman, and he would’ve said she looked shy. Not possible for Cassandra. She had no reason to feel shy around him, and would probably stab him for suggesting it.

 

Cassandra turned, presenting her back to him. For a split second, he thought she was dismissing him. Until she looked over her shoulder and said “the zipper?”

 

Varric drew close, and reached up to undo the little hook at the top of the zipper. His fingers brushed against the middle of Cassandra’s back. Her skin was just as soft as he remembered it being. Without her jacket, a plethora of scars were revealed. One curved down her right shoulder blade and parallel to her spine. Varric pulled the zipper down further. A white starburst marred Cassandra’s left side. A similar mark showed on her right bicep. The marks of a long, dangerous life. Any one of them could’ve killed her.

 

Finally the zipper was undone. The sides of Cassandra’s dress slid open, exposing the long length of her back, the flare of her hips. She held one arm across the bodice of her dress, keeping the fabric from slipping. Her eyes met his in the mirror. There was something strange in her face; a desperate yearning for-

 

Stupid, to put his own emotions on Cassandra.

 

Whatever it was, it passed and instead Cassandra turned around. Face to chest with her, Varric looked up into an expression as uncertain as his felt.

 

“Varric I- we. This afternoon, on the boardwalk?” Cassandra began. She pressed her lips together. “The kiss.”

 

“For Captain Cadaverous’ benefit. I remember.”

 

Cassandra’s straight posture sagged. “Yes, of course.”

 

Varric forced his expression into something close to roguish.

 

“Don’t worry, Seeker. So far as distractions go, that was way better than anything Hakwe could come up with.” With a wink, he turned away and left the bathroom.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUYS! I know it's been a while between updates, but DID YOU SEE THE ARTWORK ENIGMATICAGENTALICE DREW FOR ME??
> 
> It's freaking fantastic and I am overwhelmed with happy feelings!
> 
> http://enigmaticagentalice.tumblr.com/post/121451078830/cass-for-orilliaorange


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassandra and Varric miscommunicate.

Cassandra slumped against the counter, blue dress pooled at her feet. She’d just thrown herself at Varric and been rebuffed. Served her right for assuming he’d read anything into her offer or that he’d be interested in the first place.

 

_“Undo me.”_

 

Cassandra cringed at the memory of her bold words. Maker, how could she have been so foolish? Now she had to deal with the fallout.

 

After her shower. She’d deal with the humiliation later.

  


*****

 

Varric mashed his hands over his face. Stubble scraped his palms, sharp contrast to the smoothness of Cassandra’s skin. Maker’s ass it had taken a shitton of effort not to follow the path of that zipper with his mouth. It would’ve been too easy to slip her dress the rest of the way down.

 

Fuck.

 

Varric’s fingers dug into his scalp. His brain helpfully supplied an image of Cassandra standing in front of him naked, flushed and-

 

Shitting _hell_.

 

This was without a doubt the worst plan ever. The Inquisitor owed him for this. Whatever punishment Hunter Fell’s crazy politicians could cook up would be better than this. Wanting Cassandra and not being able to have her, to wake up next to her and see her smile but know it wasn’t for him.

 

Maker, he wanted her. Not only physically. He wanted every single bit of her, wanted to be there when she was happy, wanted to hold her when she wasn’t. He wanted all of her. The temper, the strength, everything. To go to sleep next to her and wake up beside her in the morning.

 

Even if she did get up at an ungodly hour.

 

He loved her.

 

Varric stared blankly at the opposite wall.

 

He loved Cassandra.

 

The shower still hadn’t started. He could open the door and tell her, and-

 

Varric stopped himself there. He could open the door and tell her what? That he was in love with her? Undying and everlasting, and utterly unwanted.

 

Cassandra had been very clear- this was all part of the act. Any emotion, any physical contact between them wasn’t real.

 

Behind him, the shower turned on. Pushing himself away from the door, Varric scrawled a quick note on the table and left the motel room.

 

****

 

Seconds ticked by as Cassandra stared at her reflection and wondered if she was the kind of woman who hid in the bathroom. She didn’t think she was. Then again, she hadn’t thought of herself as the kind of woman who let passion overcome her common sense. She’d always been brash and reckless. But that was fuelled by righteousness. Not by her own feelings, or her libido.

 

Her blue dress lay in a sodden, crumpled heap on the floor. Seeing it brought back the memory of Varric’s warm body behind her. His hand on her hip, his knuckles brushing the sensitive skin of his back as he slid her zipper down.

 

Cassandra watched as a blush spread across her face and down her neck. It was high time to admit it, to deal with what she’d discovered.

 

She wanted Varric. Wanted that smart-ass mouth, his clever mind, his sarcastic sense of humour. She wanted to kiss him, to touch him, to feel his body against hers. More than that, she-

 

Maker.

 

Cassandra’s heart skipped a beat, and she looked away from the mirror. She’d loitered long enough.

 

Trading her towel for a robe, Cassandra laid a hand on the doorknob, and took a steadying breath.

 

The door swung open, and Cassandra stepped into an empty motel room.

 

Embarrassment hit her first- Varric had fled from her? followed swiftly by rage. Varric had run off.

Tearing clean clothes from the drawer, Cassandra dressed herself with fury. How dare he? Was she so awful that he had to put their cover at risk to get away from her?

 

Snatching the room key from the table, Cassandra noted with satisfaction that Varric had left his behind. Serve him right if she locked him out. Beneath the room keys was a short note in Varric’s messy handwriting. Cassandra read it, and crushed the page into a ball.

 

The door slammed behind her, the loud slam echoing through the motel. Cassandra stalked down the hall, all pretense at being a happy newlywed forgotten.

 

“Trouble in paradise, Mrs-” the elderly clerk began with an oily smile.

 

Cassandra’s furious gaze left him sputtering behind the desk.

 

Outside the motel, the evening sky was clear and cool. Wet pavement shone like silver, dyed by the streetlights and the full moon. It was beautiful. A night that would’ve been romantic under any other circumstances.

 

The night’s beauty made no impression on Cassandra. She focused only on finding Varric.

 

It was almost insultingly easy to find him. Even worse was that he looked so damn forlorn.

 

What right did he have to look sad? She was the one who’d been humiliated.

 

Varric looked up as she approached. The hangdog expression on his face melted away at the sight of her.

 

“Do you know what it looks like, you storming off in the middle of the night? We’re meant to be _married_ ,” she spat. “It may be a game to you but-”

 

“I don’t know what kind of games you’re into, but I’d rather not play house,” Varric sneered.

 

“Playing house?” Cassandra snapped. “ You arrogant, self righteous little shit. It’s our _duty_!”

 

“Duty?” Varric said, “What wouldn’t you do for your duty? The Inquisitor says jump, you say how high. The Inquisitor says kiss the dwarf, you kiss the dwarf. What _else_ would you have done?”

 

Cassandra’s eyes widened with shock at the insinuation. Without thinking, she seized Varric’s shirt and yanked. He rose up on his toes.

 

“It was not my duty to kiss you,” she snarled. “And I regret it.”

 

Cassandra dropped Varric down onto his feet. With a shove, she sent him stumbling away from her, arms windmilling to keep his balance.

 

“Didn’t know you had feelings Seeker,” Varric said. “Aside from ‘pissy’.”

 

“You insufferable little worm!” Cassandra grit out.

 

Her heart ached, and her eyes stung but she’d be dead and damned before she cried in front of Varric. That he’d thought such things about her all along, that he thought she’d _prostitute_ herself for the Inquisition’s sake was shattering.

 

“Very creative, Seeker. That word a day calendar’s doing wonders for your vocabulary,” Varric said dryly.

 

Tamping her emotions down further, Cassandra stalked forward and picked Varric up by his shirt collar. This time, his feet left the ground entirely.

 

“Do not speak to me again, dwarf,” she said, her voice low and deadly.

 

Dropping Varric on the sidewalk, Cassandra turned on her heel and began the long walk back to the motel.

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Inquisitor appears, and Josie isn't mad, just disappointed.

 

Varric stayed out late, late enough that Cassandra was asleep when he arrived at the motel. The door to their room was closed, and as he patted his pockets, Varric remembered leaving his key on the table. That the door is locked shows him exactly how mad the Seeker is; he wouldn’t have thought she could be so petty. He has to choose whether to wake up Parker, or go to the front desk and ask for a spare, and neither option is appealing. It’s a stupid thing to be angry about, but it gives him something to feel other than self pity. Parker does a good job of pretending he didn’t wake her, and Varric’s grateful she’s half asleep because the lie he spins isn’t half as good as it should be.

 

Their room feels sullen, unwelcoming. For good reason, Varric had to admit. The Seeker would probably gut him if he crawled into bed now, so Varric sits in the chair, and puts his head in his hands.

 

How the hell did it go so wrong?

 

Cassandra’s face when he’d insulted her had been heartbreaking. Maker’s hairy asshole, he hadn’t meant to. She’d just shown up and started reminding him that this whole thing was wrong. That she was putting up with him because of her overdeveloped sense of duty. He’d snapped.

 

He’d hurt her twice in one day.

 

The Seeker (not Cassandra, she couldn’t be Cassandra to him anymore) shifted in her sleep, curled into a tight ball. They’d joked about what a change the motel room bed was from her cot back at Skyhold not even two days ago. She’d smiled and made a joke about the vibrate function their bed came with. That had surprised a laugh out of him- the staid, serious Seeker making a joke, and an off colour one on top of that? It was unheard of. They’d been edging closer and closer to a real friendship, to something serious.

 

That was the hell of it. He and the Seeker had had the potential to be friends, even if his idiot heart wanted more.

 

Not that it mattered now.

  
  


*****

 

Inquisitor Lys Trevelyan whistled as the car pulled up to The Happy Hearts Motel. A more bedraggled, disreputable looking motel couldn’t be conceived of.

 

“Josie, darling. Was this really necessary?”

 

Josephine smiled, small and secretive. Maker, that expression of hers. Prim and mischievous at the same time.

 

Leaning across the seat, Lys kissed her soundly.

 

“Inquisitor!” Josephine said, mouth curling into a coy smile.

 

Maker’s breath, but she was lovely. Cunning and beautiful and wicked.

 

“What do you think, Josie? Should we reserve a suite for ourselves?” Lys asked, kissing Josephine’s temple.

 

“The honeymoon suite is reputed to be…” Josephine hesitated, “Remarkable.”

 

Lys shivered. “Remind me not to get on  your bad side, love.”

 

They stepped out of the car, into the teeth of another rainstorm. The day had barely begun, but it was looking to be wretched. Pushing through the doors of the motel, they strode past the clerk, who did a double-take. Parker met them at the honeymoon suite’s door, tugging at her sleeves. She darted a nervous look at the door.

 

“Have they killed each other, then?” Lys asked. “I’m sure it’s fine. Those two get along well enough.”

 

Clapping a companionable hand on Parker’s shoulder, Lys swung the door open.

 

“Andraste’s holy ass.”

 

Chairs were knocked over, a long gash marred the table, and the bedclothes were strewn across the whole room. In the midst of the wreckage, Varric and Cassandra stood glaring at one another.

 

“We aren’t getting our deposit back, I suppose.”

 

The Inquisitor strode into the room, face calm as they took in the mess. Cassandra straightened, and drew herself away from Varric. With the ease of years, she fell into parade rest. Nothing could hide the fearsome scowl on her face or the  anger which radiated off her in waves. Varric slouched, his attempt at nonchalance spoiled by the obvious strain around his eyes. Raking their gaze over the pair, Lys sighed heavily.

 

“I can’t say I’m surprised. Disappointed, of course. But not surprised,” they said. “The car is out front, you’re both to return to Skyhold.”

 

Josephine’s expression promised that they were all in the doghouse. Lys resisted the urge to sigh again. The drive to the airport was sure to be rotten.

  
  



	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lys and Josephine snuggle, Varric and Cassandra struggle.

The drive was miserable. Varric and Cassandra made an effort to be civil, so long as they didn’t have to talk to one another. Or look at each other. Even Josephine’s immense patience began to fray. Lys’ usual cheerfulness deserted them. When the car pulled up to the airport, it disgorged a sullen and sulky bunch.  

 

“Do you think we could stick them on a commercial flight?” Lys muttered, “Or maybe push them out of the plane somewhere above the Waking Sea? What the hell’s wrong with them?”

 

Josephine appeared to give this serious consideration for a few minutes. With a small incline of her head, she drew the Inquisitor’s attention to Varric and Cassandra. They sat at opposite ends of the plane, on opposing rows of seats, and whenever one wasn’t looking, the other would steal a quick glance. It was hard to tell whose expression bore more lovesick pain.

 

“Maker,” Lys breathed. “Josephine, Josie, darling you didn’t know about this beforehand did you?”

 

“I only suspected, Lys. It does explain much,” Josephine said. “Though not enough.”

 

Lys dragged a hand across their face. “Idiots. They’re idiots, that’s what it is.”

 

“You do not think they...?” Josephine asked, eyes wide.

 

“Look at them. I’m not sure what’s worse. Their fighting or their being in love.”

 

Across the aisle, Varric and Cassandra’s eyes met.

 

Cassandra’s lip curled in a sneer.

 

Varric struck up a conversation with a pretty young elf, who’d approached clutching one of his books.

 

Pointedly not looking at Varric as the elf flirted with him, Cassandra opened the book which sat in her lap. Her cheeks were flushed red.

 

Lys dropped their head onto Josephine’s shoulder.

 

“I hate them.”

  
  


****

 

Fortunately for everyone involved, the flight home was free of incident. The Inquisitor’s presence meant both Varric and Cassandra exercised some restraint. The Inquisition agents manning the plane paid no attention to the way Varric never looked Cassandra in the eye, or the way Cassandra’s accent thickened whenever politeness dictated she address the dwarf. Of course, that meant that Leliana probably already knew what was going on, Lys thought. Would it be in bad taste to call a war table meeting to deal with them? Bad form to have two of the Inquisition’s most prominent members at one another’s throats.

 

Josephine nestled her head against Lys’ shoulder, snuggling herself close. Absentmindedly, they slung their arm around her. A tendril of curling black hair curved against her cheek, flushed in sleep. In the Lys’ opinion, there wasn’t a lovelier woman in all of Thedas. While Josephine slept, Lys stared out the plane’s window, lost in thought. Across the aisle from them, Cassandra and Varric were still giving one another the cold shoulder. Something which hurt them both- it was obvious to anyone with eyes that they cared about each other.

 

Briefly, Lys entertained the thought of meddling, and then rejected it. Elaborate plotting was what had fouled things up in the first place.

 

Not that it hadn’t been a brilliant idea, at the time. Equal parts punishment and alibi. They’d expected to laugh about it, later on.

 

Cassandra’s head nodded forward, her book lax in her hands. Clearly even her robust Seeker constitution wasn’t up to the strain of so much anger. Loathe to move and disturb Josephine’s sleep, Lys contemplated getting up and throwing a blanket over Cassandra. About to rise, from the corner of his eye Lys caught movement. Varric, craning his neck and pretending to stretch, was watching the Seeker.

 

Or simply stretching.

 

Varric went back to scratching notes in a beat up notebook.

 

Lys rolled their eyes.

 

Cassandra stirred, and the scratch of Varric’s pen paused.

 

If it was possible to look forlorn while sleeping, she was managing it.

 

Maker, Varric had to be made of stone. Lys spared a smile for the pun, before remembering to be annoyed with the dwarf. And the Seeker, to be fair.

 

Fed up with the drama, Lys settled further into their seat and cuddled Josephine closer. It wasn’t likely Varric or Cassandra would try to kill one another on the plane. Not with so many witnesses.

  
  


***

 

Damn Cassandra, and damn him for not being able to keep his eyes off her. Damn the Inquisitor, too. With Josephine dozing peacefully in their arms, Lys looked like the most blissfully happy person alive. Even in sleep. Smug prick.

 

Varric sighed, annoyed with himself. Cassandra (Seeker, he reminded himself again) looked far from smug. She looked sad, instead. Logically he knew it was a trick of the eye- the tilt of her head and the dim light conspiring with his guilty conscience- but somehow he couldn't quite convince his heart of it.

 

Maker’s left nut.

 

Cassandra shivered, her brow furrowing while she slept. It wasn’t any business of his, of course. Probably a bad dream. She shifted again, waking just enough to wrap her arms around herself. Varric felt like a dolt. How many nights had he slept by her side, nearly suffocated from the heat, from all the blankets she needed? The plane was freezing, and if he felt a little uncomfortable, then the Seeker was miserable. It would be a simple thing to call for one of the Inquisition agents staffing the plane, and have them bring her a blanket. No need to involve himself. Hell, Cassandra would probably prefer he stay away from her.

 

Having resolved to summon one of the agents, Varric found that he couldn’t quite do it. His finger hovered over the call button for a long moment while he wrestled with himself. There was no point in him bringing the Seeker a blanket. She wasn’t awake to thank him for it, and if she were awake she certainly wouldn’t accept anything from him. Even something so inoffensive as a blanket when she needed one.

 

The woman would cut her own nose off to spite her face, when it came to him.

 

He was equally guilty of that, though.

 

Varric checked on the Inquisitor and Josie, and, satisfied they were both sound asleep, he arose from his seat. There were blankets stashed all over the plane. Securing one, he snuck close to the sleeping Seeker. Never before had he been so grateful for his experience as a rogue. Up close, he could see that Cassandra looked tired, and that he’d been right- she did look sad. Sad, and cold, and Ancestors but she was beautiful.

 

Gently as he could, Varric draped the blanket over Cassandra. As he tucked the blanket behind her shoulder, the very tips of his fingers grazed the warm skin of her neck, jolting him into a sudden awareness of her. How long had he wanted to kiss Cassandra, to hold her and sleep by her side, to support her and fight with her and live with her? It felt like forever. But he’d ruined it, ruined even the hope of having her friendship.

  
Cassandra’s face lost much of its tension, lips parting with a soft sigh as she warmed up beneath the blanket. With one last look to memorize her, Varric crossed the plane and found a place where he couldn’t see her at all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will never tire of how devastatingly crap my chapter summaries are.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which things are said.

“Can I banish them? Tell me I can banish them,” Lys mumbled into Josephine’s lap.

 

“Unfortunately, the loss of such prolific members of the Inquisition would be noticed,” Josephine said.

 

Lys rolled onto their back, and stared adoringly up at Josephine.

 

“I love your nose. And the underside of your jaw,” they said. “Your earlobes too, come to think of it. They’re incredibly cute.”

 

Leaning back in the chaise they’d dragged onto the balcony, Josephine threaded her fingers through Lys’ hair and watched the setting sun dye the mountaintops.

 

“You cannot flatter me into banishing your closest friends, my love,” she said. There was a laugh in her voice, which made Lys grin.

 

“I just don’t understand. We left them in Ostwick and they were actually as close to friends as we thought they’d ever get,” Lys said.

 

Noting the way Josephine’s mouth twitched, Trevelyan sighed heavily.

 

“Well I know you thought there was something more, darling. I did too, but I have to say this time we were mistaken.”

 

“We shall see.”

 

That remark made Lys prop themselves up on one arm, dislodging Josephine’s fingers from their hair. Giving her a considering look, Lys huffed out a breath and lay back down.

 

“Don’t meddle, love. No more than necessary, anyways.”

 

Josephine smiled her inscrutable smile, and watched the stars bloom in the night sky.

 

***

 

The training dummy shuddered with the force of the blow it had been dealt. Splinters exploded outwards, the air filled with shredded canvas and straw. A solid hit. Cassandra brushed sweat from her face, sword hanging loose in her hand. An archaic weapon, but immensely satisfying in its application. It suited her mood. Her arms vibrated with each hit, quivered with the effort of holding and swinging a solid weight of steel for hours on end. Plus, there was a visceral sort of gratification to be found in the destruction of a training dummy.

 

Retreating to the shade of a nearby tree, Cassandra sat down heavily. Picking up her water bottle, she tilted her head back. Cool water splashed over her face. Flicking her damp hair away from her forehead, Cassandra tipped the water bottle to her mouth and took a sip. Movement flickered in the periphery of her vision. A hint of bright red, and sun off tawny hair.

 

Varric.

 

Cassandra’s lips tightened into a straight line. This was not the first time she’d spotted him near her training area since they’d returned.

 

They hadn’t spoken more than necessary. The camaraderie from before was lost and Cassandra mourned it. More than she’d expected to, really. All that remained was to move on.

 

“I know you are there, dwarf.”

 

Varric strode into view like he hadn’t just been caught spying on her. Cocky and confident as always, and obviously not feeling the strange lack she felt.

 

“Seeker,” he said. Calm and collected like always. Until he noticed the destroyed practice dummy. “Venting some frustrations? Did the dummy say something nasty about your mother?”

 

Silence gaped between them as she said nothing and he remembered exactly what had happened to her mother.

 

“I’m an asshole.”

 

Cassandra made a noncommittal noise and just looked at him instead.

 

Varric’s lips twisted into a grimace.

 

“Okay. Okay I’m a fucking asshole.”

 

Cassandra snorted, and felt like smiling. Which, she reminded herself, wasn’t going to happen. She wasn’t about to give Varric the satisfaction. Or set herself up for disappointment and humiliation. Again.

 

“Then we agree,” Cassandra told him.

 

Expecting him to depart, she turned her attention back to the sword resting across her lap. It needed sharpening- her exertions had blunted the edges. Running a fond hand along the length of the blade, Cassandra noticed a blurry reflection in the steel’s polished surface.

 

Varric. Still hovering at her elbow. This had to be the longest they’d spent in one another’s company since the motel. There had to be a reason for it. Perhaps the Inquisitor sent him to fetch her. Some ham-handed attempt on Trevelyan’s part to bring about a reconciliation. That sounded like something their leader would do. She respected Lys, much more than she had when they’d first met. They were a good friend, solid and true, someone Cassandra had no qualms about following. But really. There had to be other things requiring Lys’ attention than whether or not she and Varric played well together.

 

Assuming that was why Varric was awkwardly loitering at the training grounds. Where he’d never willingly set foot before. In her company, which he’d been avoiding.

 

Cassandra bit back a sigh. Of course he was here at the Inquisitor’s request.

 

“Out with it, Varric.”

 

She could’ve been mistaken, looking up from under her brows as she was, but Cassandra could’ve sworn Varric looked sad. She looked up, giving him her full attention, and saw that his face looked the way it always did- beaten up, a little tired, and smug.

 

“Out with what, Seeker?” he said, offering her an innocent expression.

 

She knew better than to trust him, though.

 

“You really think I came here with an ulterior motive? Seeker, I’m hurt!”

 

Cassandra gave him a look expressing how she felt about that.

 

“Varric. We do not need to be friends for the Inquisition to function. Tell the Inquisitor I said so.”

 

Cassandra stood and sheathed her sword. With a curt nod at Varric, she strode off towards the forge.

 

“Seeker!”

 

The cheerful mask Varric usually wore had slipped. Annoyance was written across his face as he hurried to catch up to her.

 

Not feeling at all kind, Cassandra turned on her heel and continued walking.

 

“Maker take it, Cassandra!”

 

That stopped her dead. A hard lump formed in her throat at the sound of her name on his tongue. How long had it been since he’d called her ‘Cassandra’? Maker protect her. It hurt. She reached the forge and slipped in, slamming the door behind her. Taking the stairs up to her loft two at a time, Cassandra heard the forge door open and shut again. Shaking fingers fumbled her keys, while the sound of Varric’s footsteps drew nearer.

 

She was about to hide. From Varric of all people. It was humiliating, and infuriating to admit. Giving up on her keys, Cassandra waited for him on the landing.

 

***

 

Maker damn the woman. Varric stormed up the stairs, anger burning bright in his chest. Couldn’t she ever let anyone close, allow anyone to apologize?

 

Of course, she’d let him close and he’d fucked it up.

 

Varric tore round the corner and onto the first landing. One foot on the next step, he paused to look up.

 

Cassandra stood waiting for him at the top of the stairs, her arms crossed. He was abruptly reminded of their first meeting, and the intransigent woman who’d interrogated him. Who’d stabbed his book. Who hadn’t any intention of being his friend.

 

Self-preservation suggested he stay out of arm's reach. It was probably a good suggestion, but he wasn’t about to listen.

 

“What do you want, dwarf?”

 

Cassandra’s voice was impersonal. The tone she used when one of the recruits displeased her.

 

“Varric,” he said, eyebrow raised.

 

Cassandra looked confused.

 

“My name, Seeker. It’s not ‘dwarf’,” he elaborated, to Cassandra’s obvious disgust.

 

“I know your name,” she spat.

 

Maker, but he hated that this was familiar territory.

 

“Well?” he prompted.

 

“What do you want, Varric?” she snarled.

 

Varric cautiously walked up the next few steps until he was only a few feet away from Cassandra.

 

“To apologize,” he said. “Not because Their Inquisitorialness asked, either.”

 

The skeptical look Cassandra gave him was damn annoying, but no less than he deserved. He had to swallow against the urge to give her less than the truth, to skirt around what he really wanted to say.

 

“I’m serious,” he said. Making eye contact with Cassandra, Varric tried to look as honest as he could.

 

Maker only knew what she thought about that.

 

“In Ostwick I was an asshole.”

 

“Only in Ostwick?” Cassandra asked.

 

Her voice lacked any inflection or indication that she was being funny. But there was something in her eyes, a hint of a smile that made Varric’s stupid heart flip.

 

“Look. Seeker-”

 

“Cassandra.”

 

Varric stumbled over his own tongue. “What?”

 

“My name is not Seeker,” Cassandra said.

 

She tilted her chin up, looking imperious as hell. Varric’s mouth felt dry.

 

“Cassandra.”

 

He breathed out her name, and for a brief moment they shared a look that made him hope.

 

Remembering why saying her name felt like a forbidden pleasure, Varric collected himself and instead hoped she hadn’t noticed his brief lapse.

 

“I’m sorry. In earnest.”

 

Maker, now he knew why Curly always looked like he was about to bolt. Being truthful was nerve wracking.

 

“I said some stupid shit, and I-” Varric said, wondering where his glib tongue had gone. "Maker's ass, I'm sorry."

 

“You are apologizing for accusing me of whoring myself for the Inquisition?” Cassandra asked coolly.

 

Varric winced.

 

“I am definitely apologizing for that.”

 

The air on the steps felt distinctly chilly.

 

“And for being a shitty friend,” he added.

 

Cassandra looked at him for what felt like an eternity. When she descended the last few stairs to stand face to face with him, he wasn’t sure what to expect.

 

She stuck her hand out. Varric stared at it for a moment, and then cautiously took it. Her strong fingers closed around his. Before he knew what was happening, she’d shaken his hand and withdrawn her own.

 

“I accept your apology, Varric.”

 

As she ascended the stairs, Varric watched her go and wondered why he felt worse than before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with this!


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Josie makes a decision, Cassandra and Varric have to deal with the fallout.

“Josie. Josie I am going to murder them. That’s legal, right?”

“Inquisitor. You are not allowed to execute people without just cause,” Josephine replied, not looking up from her writing. “We are dining with the Comte and his wife this evening, do not forget.”

“How is it they’re worse now? He apologized! She accepted!”

Lys threw themselves into an armchair, legs sprawled. The soft scratch of Josephine’s quill combined with the crackle of fire and the delicate scent of her perfume did much to calm them. Staring into the flames while Josephine worked, Lys tried to cope with the problem of their two closest friends. Barring Josie, of course. She was invaluable. A treasure. Life without her would be utter crap. They were so, so lucky. Lys thought back to before they’d confessed, how awful they’d felt seeing her and not knowing whether she reciprocated, whether they dared-

“Shitting monkey arsed hell.”

Josephine raised an eyebrow. “You have been spending a great deal of time with Sera, my love.”

“You love me and my foul mouth. Sera just enables me,” Lys said with a smile. “That’s neither here nor there, though. I think you were right.”

Josephine finished whatever she was writing, and laid down her quill.

“What am I right about in this particular instance?” she said, eyes twinkling.

“Cassandra and Varric,” Lys said. “I think you’re right. There is something there. Otherwise they’d have gone back to hating each other, or settled back into being friends. Instead, they’re moping about the hold hoping nobody notices how miserable they are, and being downright damn weird whenever I take them on a mission.”

“It is unfortunate that they are being so strange with one another. It affects the morale and the reputation of the Inquisition. Seeker Pentaghast is one of our most respected members, and Varric’s network of contacts and renown as an author is invaluable to our cause,” Josephine said thoughtfully.

Lys broke out into a wide, somewhat evil grin.

“We have a suite permanently reserved for the Inquisition’s use at a resort in Antiva. It’s owned by my cousins,” Josephine remarked. “It is possible that given some time away from the Inquisition, Varric and Cassandra might come to resolve their differences.”

“Have I mentioned I love your mind? You are so devious, my darling. Absolutely remarkable.”

***

“You’re shitting me,” Varric said flatly.

“I refuse,” Cassandra said.

Lys looked at them both, seated in the chaise on their balcony. Cassandra stood in parade rest, while Varric lounged against the balustrade. Neither of them looked at the other.

“You don’t have a choice I’m afraid,” Lys said. “You two need to get along, and fix whatever the hell is going on between you.”

“Inquisitor, our personal affairs are hardly your business,” Cassandra said stiffly.

“I’m afraid that when your personal affairs affect the Inquisition, they become my business. Which is why I’m sending you two to Antiva. For two weeks,” Lys said. “You will resolve whatever needs resolving before you return.”

“We will not…” Cassandra hesitated, “We will not be forced to share a room?”

Lys waved a dismissive hand.

“I’ve been informed the living room has a pull out couch. You can flip a coin, rotate who sleeps where, whatever.”

“What happens if we refuse?” Varric asked.

“If you refuse to sleep on the pull out couch?” Lys replied.

“If we refuse to go along with your forced vacation plan,” Varric said, exasperated.

Lys shrugged.

“I have Leliana deal with you instead,” they said.

“I hear Antiva’s nice this time of year,” Varric said.

Cassandra simply looked pained.

“Start packing, your flight is booked for tomorrow morning,” Lys smiled at them.

“We aren’t taking the Inquisition’s plane?” Cassandra asked.

“I’m afraid not.”

***

Cassandra wanted to scream. They’d had to be up at two in the morning in order to arrive at the nearest airport in good time. Then they’d been very slowly processed through all the ridiculous security measures until finally they were admitted into the airport proper. At which point they’d had to go to the other end of the damn building to be at the correct gate, only to have their plane switch gates. To a gate halfway back across the airport.

The Inquisitor hadn’t even booked them decent tickets. Instead of enjoying the relative comfort of first class, she and Varric were crammed into the middle and aisle seats of a flight she suspected was comprised entirely of babies.

“I hate children,” she muttered.

A woman clutching a small wailing child gave Cassandra a dark look from the opposite aisle seat. Meanwhile, Varric had quickly won the affections of the woman sat near the window, who seemed to possess the only happy baby on the entire plane.

“Not a fan of kids, Cassandra?” Varric asked. The baby curled small, chubby fingers around Varric’s forefinger, and cooed.

“ _They_ are not a fan of _me_ ,” she grumbled.

“It’s different when they’re your own,” the baby’s mother chirped. She gave her own child a loving look, and stuck a pacifier in its mouth.

Cassandra didn’t respond, trying not to watch Varric play with the infant. She didn’t particularly want children of her own, but watching Varric fawn over the child was doing strange things to her heart.

“Are you two planning on having children?”

The question shocked Cassandra out of her reverie.

“We aren’t together,” she answered. Admittedly a bit shortly.

The woman’s face turned dusky pink with embarrassment. “I’m so sorry, I just assumed and- uh.”

“It’s nothing,” Varric said. “Happens all the time.”

Despite that, the three of them sat in awkward silence for the remainder of the flight. Except for the baby, who joined its fellows and began shrieking.

Cassandra thumped her head back against her headrest. They still had one more plane to catch.

***

Their next flight was only two hours long, and mostly baby free.

Perhaps Andraste was smiling upon them.

Varric certainly hoped so, since so far evidence was pointing towards them being forsaken by all the gods.

Cassandra was sitting so far away from him, he was worried she’d fall out of the taxi. That was one thing the Inquisitor hadn’t skimped on. They were being taken to their resort in a sleek black car, complete with a privacy panel. And champagne.

Varric popped the cork, snorting out a laugh when the noise made Cassandra jump.

“Here, figured we could use it,” he said.

Cassandra accepted the beautiful champagne flute, and sipped at it delicately. Outside the car, the Antivan scenery zipped by, a bright blur of colours and textures. Elegantly manicured trees gave way to a wildness out of a painter’s dream, which morphed again into a small but clearly prosperous town. Their hotel was on the side overlooking Rialto Bay. A tasteful resort, whose winding, tree lined driveway was designed for privacy. Varric cracked a window, and immediately the car was suffused with the heady scent of the sea and flowers. Jasmine, he thought.

Their taxi drew alongside the resort’s large front doors. There was no obvious branding, it looked for all the world like the ancestral home of a prosperous vintner. Which was what it had likely been at some point. Varric liked the place immediately, despite himself.

Cassandra was trying to hide the dreamy look on her face, with little success. Varric didn’t have to be a mind-reader to know that this was what she’d meant when she imagined a honeymoon in Antiva. Not a forced retreat with a man she barely liked.

Maker’s ass, he was becoming a maudlin old fart.

Their driver got out and opened the car door for them, a little detail Cassandra clearly appreciated. The car pulled away, leaving them standing in front of the resort’s grand doors. Birdsong and the faint sound of waves crashing against the cliffside were the only noises.

Varric cleared his throat, and offered Cassandra his arm and a crooked smile.

“Milady?”

She laughed, but rested her hand on his forearm. The small touch lit a flame in his heart, reinforced what he’d known all along. He loved her. Foolishly, desperately, and without any hope of reciprocation. It didn’t matter.

They pushed the doors open, and strode into the lobby. Tastefully decorated in cream and charcoal, it managed to be both welcoming and clearly expensive. Behind the main desk, a young woman in a cream and charcoal suit gave them a polite smile.

“Wonder if the bed vibrates,” Varric murmured.

Cassandra rolled her eyes at him.

“Cassandra Pentaghast, and Varric Tethras. We have a-”

“You are cousin Josephine’s friends!” the young woman exclaimed. “We have your suite prepared, and your luggage has already been brought up! How is Josephine?”

She pulled a set of keys off the wall, each with a small charcoal tab with the room number in cream.

“She is well,” Cassandra said, “Invaluable to the Inquisition, and a treasured friend.”

Varric rolled his eyes. “Ruffles is the power behind the throne, and a frightening Wicked Grace player.”

The young woman laughed gaily.

“That does sound like Josephine,” she said. “I am Seraphine, please follow me!”

Gesturing for them to follow her, she headed towards the curving staircase.

Cassandra and Varric walked behind her as the conversation turned to the hotel’s history. As Varric expected, at one point it had been a vineyard. It had come through the region’s various upheavals with a minimum of damage, and when the nearby city became popular as a retreat, the owners had decided to become hoteliers.

“Of course the vineyard is still in use, and we have an extensive wine cellar,” Seraphine said. “Here is your suite, my lady, messer.”

The door swung open to reveal a casually elegant room. The large windows showed a sliver of the city, but the majority of their view was of Rialto Bay. It was breathtaking.

Seraphine stood in the doorway, smiling at them.

“The bedroom is up those stairs, and through there is the bathroom,” she pointed at the far door. “The windows by the tub open up to a particularly lovely view of the shoreline.”

“It is wonderful,” Cassandra said stiffly. “Thank you.”

Seraphine bowed, and shut the door behind her as she left.

Varric suddenly missed the presence of a third person. Being left alone in this beautiful room with Cassandra made him feel awkward.

“It is an improvement on the motel in Ostwick,” Cassandra remarked.

“I don’t know, that place had its charms,” Varric said. “That was one hell of a gift basket.”

Cassandra sighed.

“There is no use in pretending,” she said. “This is a punishment. No matter how lovely the setting.”

Her mouth settled into a grim line.

“Seeker,” Varric drew closer. “This is an opportunity.”

Cassandra looked down at him, and Maker’s ass Varric sincerely hoped to never see that expression again. Her face was neutral, but her eyes. Her eyes weren’t simply sad. Their expression went beyond sad. Resigned, forlorn. Unhappy.

Varric pasted a smile across his face. “Look, we’re in Antiva with a room most of the Orlesian court would sell their eyeteeth for.”

A smile darted across Cassandra’s otherwise blank face.

“Come on. Can’t tell me you don’t want to enjoy this room. Or that view?” Varric gestured at the window.

Cassandra snorted.

  
“You cannot possibly know whether any Orlesian nobles would want to stay here, Varric.”

Varric raised both eyebrows. “You’re telling me that a ritzy place like this run by Josephine’s family wouldn’t be popular?”

He could see the moment when Cassandra really looked at their room, at the view out to Rialto Bay, where the sun was just setting, a vibrant ball of fire sinking into the turquoise water. Her eyes met his, and the light was back in them. Seeing her look happy again made his heart constrict.

Maker he was really screwed.

“Cassandra,” Varric said.

The sunset over Rialto Bay set their room aflame in beautiful light. A breeze blew in through the door to the balcony, carrying the scent of sea air and flowers. Varric found suddenly that he didn’t know what to do. Didn’t know how to take that last step. Cassandra simply stared at him.

“What do you say we wash the stink of public transportation off, and grab dinner?” Varric said.

  
Cassandra blinked.

“I would like that,” she told him with a slow smile.

It wasn’t quite the smile he was used to from her- not the glowing, joyous smiles from their time in Ostwick. But it was a start.

“You shower first, I’ll order dinner,” Varric said.

Cassandra, looking bemused, headed up the stairs to the loft where the bedroom was. Varric watched her go, studied the play of light and shadow she walked through as though it was the last thing he’d ever see. She looked back once. Just a simple glance over her shoulder, and it was more likely she was taking in the view. But Varric felt her eyes on him, and knew in his bones what he’d always known. His heart belonged to her, if she’d have it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extra long chapter because I felt you guys needed it. <3


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassandra takes a shower, Varric stares out to sea. Nothing else interesting happens.

Varric stood on the balcony, the light breeze stirring the gauzy curtains and filling the room with the heady scent of the sea and blooming flowers. In the distance, ever so faintly, there was music. Cassandra stood at the top of the stairs, robe belted tightly around her waist. There was something about his silhouette that spoke of yearning, of tightly leashed hope.

 

A seagull’s cry broke the spell, and Cassandra let herself smile.

 

More likely she was reading too far into things.

 

She descended the stairs soundlessly. Part of her hoped Varric would turn around, that he would see her and-

 

Cassandra paused halfway down the stairs. Varric had opened her eyes once before to the splendor of their room. The superficial reality of it had made her smile. Now she felt the weight of it, of her own yearning.

 

She wanted him. Wanted desperately for him to turn and smile at her. For a moment, to have the warmth of Varric’s affection, even if only offered in friendship.

 

To think he would give her anything more. That he could feel for her the same helpless rush of emotion that he inspired in her?

 

Cassandra reached the main floor and cast Varric one last look over her shoulder as she entered the bathroom.

 

It was an absurd hope.

 

The door shut behind her, and Cassandra shed the robe, hanging it on a nearby hook. The cool marble of the bathroom was a refreshing change from Antiva’s heat. Or perhaps it was simply that having Varric out of sight eased the heaviness of her heart. It had not been nearly so ponderously heavy in Ostwick, she thought. When she’d hoped. Varric was a hard man to ignore. Try as she might.

 

Cassandra turned the shower faucets on.

 

Why couldn’t she treat it as a simple infatuation and move on?

 

Cassandra stepped beneath the lush fall of water, and sighed.

 

Certainly, he was handsome. Varric was all broad shoulders and strong arms. When he smiled, his eyes gleamed with something roguish. Maker, it was so foolish but her heart skipped a beat.

 

She wanted to run her fingers through his hair, to feel the scrape of his stubble against her palms.

 

Maker.

 

She’d done that, in Ostwick.

 

It should’ve been enough, but it wasn’t. She wanted to kiss him again, to feel his desire. To be desired.

 

Cassandra reached back and turned the tap. The shower ran colder, and she shuddered.

 

Stupid. She knew the difference between love and lust. And what she felt for Varric was-

 

Cassandra’s heart squeezed tight.

 

It was stupid.

 

She should know better. He was arrogant. A liar and a cheat, and more than capable of using his sharp tongue to wound.

 

She of all people had reason to know that.

 

And yet. Varric was capable of more. Of great honesty, and bravery. He was patient and kind, and clever. He cared for his friends, and Cassandra was certain that no family in Thedas could be loved more than Varric loved his patchwork family. His was a heart that could give infinitely.

 

She was going to make a fool of herself.

 

But surely such a heart could have room for her.

 

Cassandra smiled, tipping her head back to rinse the soap out. All that needed to be done was the obvious. The most frightening part.

 

She had to talk to Varric.

 

***

 

Cassandra emerged from the bathroom in a cloud of floral scented air wearing only a silk robe.

 

Varric watched. Of course he did, he wasn’t dead, and you’d have to be dead to not appreciate the beauty of a woman like Cassandra Pentaghast. Particularly when she was draped in clinging charcoal silk, fresh from a shower. Every movement caused the robe to swish around her thighs, in a way Varric found hypnotizing.

 

Until she was standing only a few feet from him, with a somber expression on her face. Until all he could smell was the scent of her warm skin and her soap.

 

“Varric. I-” she began, then stopped and stared at him.

 

“Perhaps we should, we should sit?” she said, almost to herself.

 

“I am sitting,” Varric said.

 

“Oh. Yes, you are. I-”

 

Cassandra’s hands gripped the back of her chair.

 

“I will stand.”

 

“Suit yourself, Seeker.”

 

Ancestors, how was a man meant to concentrate when confronted with that much woman? Varric let his gaze sweep from Cassandra’s face to her feet, couldn’t stop from feasting on the sight before him. When his eyes met hers though, Varric found himself at a true loss for words.

 

Pink flushed Cassandra’s cheeks. Her eyes were coal-hot, and intent. On him.

 

For a moment, the air between them trembled, on the cusp of something Varric could almost name.

 

Until Cassandra pressed her lips into a firm line, and drew herself up into a proud line.

 

Her knuckles were white, Varric noted. She clutched the chair back so tightly, it was a shock when the wood didn’t crack.

 

“Seeker-”

 

“Varric-”

 

He couldn’t move. Didn’t dare stand. If he moved, he’d do something truly idiotic like kiss her.

 

“I have… I have missed you,” she said lamely.

 

“Oh.”

Varric blinked.

 

Cassandra frowned at him. Exhaled heavily through her nose.

 

“More than I thought.”

 

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Varric said.

 

If he thought her eyes burned before, now they scorched.

 

“It is,” she snapped. “I cannot stop.”

 

“Don’t.”

 

Cassandra inhaled, barely a gasp. But Varric caught it, used it to free himself from his chair.

 

“Don’t stop,” he said again.

 

He looked up at her, really looked. Averted his eyes. When his gaze landed on the triangle of chest her robe exposed, he looked at her elbow.

 

“Varric.”

 

His heart roared, blood sang in his veins loud enough to drown out the ocean. Cassandra said his name, and at that moment he knew.

 

“I love you. Maker’s ass. I don’t know if-”

 

Whatever else he said, Cassandra swallowed the words. Her lips pressed against his, her hands fisted in his hair.

 

They broke apart panting, Cassandra’s robe hanging askew.

 

“You love me.”

 

She smiled.

 

“How fortunate,” she said. “I love you, as well.”

 

Varric reached out, and Cassandra came to him, a vision in silk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dedicated to my friends, who cheer me on. Love you.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is very nsfw. Thank you for reading, and thank you to my friends for reading and re-reading this, it must've been a trial <3

Cassandra floated up into awareness. Varric sprawled half over her, their legs tangled together. His face is mashed against her shoulder. One heavy arm curled up her stomach, resting gently on her breast. It is not precisely comfortable. But he is a comforting weight. His snuffling breaths tickled her throat, and Cassandra struggled not to giggle. Can't quite remember when she last did something so girlish as giggle.

 

It is Varric's influence, and her own changed heart.

 

Cassandra smiled, wide and gloriously happy. Lying in bed with the man she loves, with nothing more pressing to do in the coming day than be together. It is perfect.

 

Varric nuzzled against her neck, lips brushing sensitive skin and Cassandra's breath caught in her throat.

 

_Teeth grazing her throat, sharp in counterpoint to the sweet thrust of his fingers-_

 

 _Andraste._ Cassandra took a deep breath, trying not to wake Varric and also hoping he might wake. The light pressure of his palm against her breast wasn't enough, every shaking breath rasping her nipple against his calloused palm.

 

Cassandra tried not to squirm. Varric's thigh was wedged between hers, but not nearly close enough. Biting her lip, Cassandra tried not to think of sex.

 

_Varric's face as she sank down onto his cock, mouth agape and eyes wide. His fingers digging into her hips, pulling her tight against him-_

 

Hell. He is still asleep. Varric's slow, even breaths somehow only make things worse.

 

He is so beautiful. Cassandra smiled to herself, knowing that Varric would make some smart remark about it. But it's true. There is something painfully, wonderfully beautiful about him. Varric is put together so perfectly. Even his broken nose is perfect. She sighed happily, fingers stroking his hair.

 

Varric chuckled against her throat.

 

"You little shit!" Cassandra exclaimed. "You were awake?"

 

Varric propped himself up on one arm, hair sticking up, eyes still sleepy. His mouth crooked up in a soft smile.

 

Cassandra can't even pretend to be outraged, not when he looks so sweet. Not when all she wants is him.

 

"Good morning to you too, Seeker," he said.

 

Cassandra wound her arms around Varric’s neck, and drew him down for a quick kiss.

 

Only, when his lips met hers, Cassandra pulled him tighter against her, arching her neck to get closer.

 

Varric's leg was still between hers, and Cassandra doesn't notice she's rubbing herself against him until he groans.

 

"Cassandra," he breathed out, forehead braced against hers.

 

"Mm?"

 

Cassandra isn't quite concentrating. Varric's cock is a brand against her hip, leaving a slick smear along her skin. When Varric looked down at her, something in her face makes his hips stutter.

 

Whatever else Varric was about to say died in his throat as Cassandra lightly trailed her fingers down his back.

 

"Seeker," he said, looking strained. "Did you just grab my ass?"

 

"I might've," Cassandra said.

 

Varric stared at her for a moment, before a foolish smile spread across his face, and he laughed.

 

He was still shaking with mirth when he kissed her, and Cassandra felt an answering smile bloom across her face.

 

Maker, it had to be a dream. No one could be this happy, she thought.

 

And yet she was. Thoroughly, ridiculously happy.

 

"Don't think I'll ever get used to that," Varric murmured. His gaze was focused on her, almost curious.

 

"Get used to what? Being kissed?" Cassandra teased.

 

Varric's smile became something wry. But his eyes were soft.

 

"You. Looking at me like-" he paused, "like  you love me."

 

Pink stained his cheeks, with their freckles and scars, and all their imperfections. Each of which Cassandra loved desperately.

 

"Because I do, foolish dwarf." Cassandra drew him down against her. "I love you very much."

 

"Mm, say it again Seeker?"

 

Varric kissed her throat. Cassandra shivered, and wound her fingers in his unbound hair.

 

"I love you," she said.

 

He grinned. Kissed her collarbone.

 

"Again."

 

“I love you.”

 

"Still not tired of hearing it," Varric muttered against her skin.

 

Cassandra tugged lightly on his hair. "You ass."

 

Varric only smirked, and moved further down the bed. Cassandra's breath caught in her throat. Even a soft kiss against the smooth skin of her stomach was too much, the scrape of Varric's stubble a teasing touch. He nipped at the sharp jut of her hip bones, and Cassandra twitched.

 

"Like that?" Varric said, his voice low.

 

Cassandra untangled her fingers from his hair, splayed them on his shoulders, urging him upwards.

 

"Seeker? You al-"

 

Cassandra smeared their mouths together, curled one leg around his hips to press him closer. Varric broke the kiss briefly, panting.

 

"So, that's a yes?"

 

Cassandra turned his face back to hers, arched up to kiss him slowly, thoroughly.

 

"Definitely a yes."

 

Her hips rocked against his, and Varric hissed at the contact.

 

"You're so fucking wet," he said, helplessly.

 

Cassandra groaned, buried her face in the crook of his neck. Ground her hips again, feeling the slick slide of his cock hot against her cunt.

 

"Fuck!" Varric grit out.

 

One broad hand closed around her hip, tugging her down to fit more tightly against him.

 

Cassandra bit down on his shoulder, muffling a cry. Varric sucked in a breath, hips shuddering against her.

 

"Yeah, _fuck_. Do that, do that again," he gasped out.

 

"Like that?" Cassandra said breathlessly.

 

"Yes. Fuck yes."

 

Her teeth nipped at the joint of shoulder and neck. The muscles in Varric's back tensed beneath her fingers. The hand holding her steady against the rhythm of their thrusts clenched. His thumb slid along the soft skin between hipbone and stomach.

 

"Ah-"

 

Cassandra arched up against him, pushed until Varric rolled over. One hand braced on his chest, she let her fingers skate along the trembling muscles of his stomach, down to circle round his cock.

 

Their eyes meet. Cassandra smiled, feeling predatory. Varric’s head lolled back against the pillow, eyes squeezed shut as he breathes slowly, carefully.

 

“I want you,” Cassandra said. “I want to feel you inside me.”

 

Rearing back against his thighs, Cassandra slipped her hand between her legs, fingers rubbing against her clit. Licked her other palm, and grasped Varric’s cock.

 

“Fuck. _Fuck_ Cassandra-” Varric’s hands fluttered against the sheets. Curled into fists as she stroked him. “Please I- ah. I need you now.”

 

“What was that, my love?” Cassandra drawled.

 

“I need you, now.”

  
Every word Varric growled out between clenched teeth as Cassandra stroked his cock.

 

“Cassandra, please-”

 

The strangled groan that slipped from his mouth as Cassandra sank down onto him was obscene.

 

“Varric.”

 

His hands stroked up her sides, down her back.

 

“Fucking beautiful,” he gasped out. “You are- Maker you are so _fucking_ beautiful Cassandra please”

 

Cassandra groaned, thighs quivering as she rode his cock. Lips parted as she thrust down harder, faster. Varric lunged up, arms wrapping around her chest.

 

“Lean back,” he murmured against her skin.

 

Varric lowered her back against the bed, smoothed a palm along her thigh.

 

“My love.”

 

Cassandra felt her toes curl at the growl in his voice.

 

“Yes,” she said, smiling up at him.

 

Varric began to move, long slow strokes that had them both grasping desperately at each other.

 

“Seeker,” he said, voice shaking.

 

Cassandra whimpered against his shoulder, legs clenching around his waist.

 

“Please, please _Varric- ah!_ ”

 

Her teeth sank into his shoulder again, muffling her gasping breaths.

 

“Fuck,” Varric cursed, grinding his hips against her. “Come, come for me _please_ I can’t-”

 

All the muscles in his back went taut, Varric’s jaw a hard line as he stilled against her with a strangled grunt. Hair hung down his face, sweat dripping down the column of his throat. Leaning on one arm, he slid a hand between them, fingers frantically caressing her clit.

 

Cassandra’s nails scored tracks down his back as she came, body plastered against Varric’s, trembling like a leaf.

 

“Shit,” Varric muttered against her neck. “Cassandra-”

 

He rolled off of her, and they both took a moment to breathe again in the cool air of the suite. Varric reached out to gather her close, nuzzled against her hair.

 

Cassandra yawned, jaw cracking.

 

There was silence, then giggling.

 

“I am _exhausted_ ,” she said, curling herself around Varric’s sturdy body.

 

Varric mumbled something sleepily.

 

Cassandra smiled, and drifted off cradled against his chest.

 

***

 

“Room service is here,” Varric called out.

 

The waiter deposited their tray on the small table with flair, as Cassandra strolled down the stairs still only wearing Varric’s shirt.

 

“Eyes back in your head or you don’t get a tip,” he told the waiter.

 

“Sorry sir,” the woman said, averting her eyes.

 

Cassandra rubbed the sleep from her eyes, and Varric wondered if she’d ever do something he didn’t find painfully cute.

 

She smiled sleepily at him, and the waiter nearly dropped her tray.

 

“Good afternoon,” Cassandra said.

 

The waiter blushed, and hurriedly took her leave. Varric wrapped an arm around Cassandra’s waist.

 

“We lose more waiters that way,” he said against the exposed skin of her chest.

 

Cassandra laughed, fingers weaving through his hair.

 

“We should eat,” she said.

 

“Mm we should,” Varric said, letting his fingers sneak beneath the hem of her shirt. His shirt.

 

“Food, dwarf,” Cassandra scolded, her cheeks pink.

 

She was smiling down at him, eyes shining, and Varric forgot to breathe.

 

Cassandra moved past him, settling herself down at the table and stretching her legs out. His shirt rode high on her thighs, barely covering her at all.

 

“Sure I can’t change your mind, Seeker?”

 

She met his eyes, and the blush darkened.

 

Her stomach rumbled.

 

Varric laughed, and picked Cassandra’s feet up off the other chair. Once he’d settled, she draped her legs over his lap.

 

“Maker give me strength,” Varric murmured.

 

“You’ll need it,” Cassandra said.

 

***

 

The smooth marble railing was cool against her back, a relief in contrast to the scalding heat of Varric’s mouth against her cunt.

 

He moaned against her, and Cassandra clenched around his fingers. Her hips bucked, and Varric’s tongue laved at her clit, sucking and teasing until it took every ounce of willpower she had not to scream.

 

“Fuck yes, you look so good Cassandra. You’re so fucking beautiful like this,” Varric growled.

  
He crooked his fingers, and Cassandra whined. Rutted eagerly against his hand.

 

Wind stirred her hair, plucked at the soft fabric of Varric’s shirt pooled around her waist.

 

Varric’s mouth and chin were wet, his eyes dark and hot and intent on her.

 

“I love watching you come apart,” he said, before pulling his fingers out and grabbing her thighs.

 

Cassandra gasped at the sudden loss, before Varric buried his face between her legs again. Her fingers tangled in his hair. Her thighs shook, heels pressing into Varric’s back, as a broken cry spilled from her mouth.

 

She slid bonelessly from her perch on the railing, Varric’s warm hands pulling her close. Her cunt throbbed, ached sweetly as she shook against him.

 

“mmf”

 

“Love you too, Seeker,” Varric said with a laugh.

  
  


****

 

“Helluva storm,” Varric remarked.

 

Wind howled around the estate, rain pelting down against the windows. Below them the ocean dashed itself against the shore in a fury.

 

Cassandra tucked her feet beneath his legs, and turned another page of her book. Dishes lay scattered around the couch, and a stack of novels had taken up part of the coffee table.

 

“Reminds me of the storm in Ostwick, do you remember?” she said, not looking up from her page.

 

Varric smiled.

 

“I remember,” he said. “I wanted to kiss you, even though it was fucking freezing out.”

 

Cassandra snorted. Looked up at him over the edge of her book.

 

“You wanted to kiss me?” she asked.

 

“Desperately,” Varric said, moving her feet onto his lap. “Maker, when you asked me to unzip your dress…”

 

Cassandra’s cheekbones flushed rosy.

 

Varric let his head fall back against the couch, staring up at the ceiling. His fingers caressed her ankles, slid up her calves absentmindedly.

 

“Should’ve kissed you then,” he said ruefully.

 

“You can always make up for lost time,” Cassandra said.

 

She smiled, and set her book aside. Opened her arms to him.

 

“I can damn well try,” Varric smirked.

 

 


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric and Cassandra begin at the beginning.

Cassandra, despite the wear of the last two years, was still as stunning as ever. Possibly, she was more beautiful. Then again, Varric had to admit he was biased. Neither of them were unaffected by the last few years, but she wore it well. A few more scars, more grey in their hair now (Cassandra had begun to grey at the temples and Varric found he was very into it), assorted aches and pains and bad memories. They are not unchanged, except in one respect. What hasn’t changed is how much he loves her.

Cassandra smiled at him from across the room, looking up from her papers.

Varric’s heart  never stopped skipping when she did that. Just that one look was enough to send him right to his knees. Metaphorically, most of the time.

He smiled back at her.

They have had their problems in the last two years. Their fights, their tears. All sorts of sorrow and joy in more or less equal measure.

He does not want to be without her. Whatever happens to them, he wants to experience it all by her side. In sickness, in health, for better or for worse. It is a shocking thing to realize all at once on a quiet evening.

Maker.

“Varric?” Cassandra asked, her voice soft. “You are staring.”

He blinked.

“Enjoying the view, Seeker.”

She chuckled, her smile bright.

“See something you like?”

“Always,” Varric said, softer than he meant.

Cassandra’s cheeks glowed pink.

“Smartass,” she muttered.

Her gaze flicked back to the pages spread out on her desk. But she was still grinning foolishly.

Their anniversary is approaching, Varric realized. The first they’d be able to celebrate properly since he became Viscount, and she joined the Council.

A smile curled its devious way across his face.

***

“Varric really, is this entirely necessary?” Cassandra asked.

Her slim fingers fidgeted with the edges of the blindfold, her mouth pursed into a frown.

Varric stilled her hands, pressed a kiss against her knuckles. Beneath them, the plane juddered to life. He’d had to tell Josie and Lys the entirety of his plan in order to get the Inquisition’s private plane for the weekend. His revenge of course, is that they cannot tell anyone why. Knowing Lys, they must be bursting at the seams.

“You’re up to something,” Cassandra said.

Her glare is less effective swathed in black cloth.

“Was the blindfold your first clue?” Varric deadpanned.

Cassandra only snorted, and bumped their shoulders together. She leaned her forehead against the top of his head, pressed a swift kiss against his temple.

There was a pause, where her warm breath ghosted along his neck, followed by her soft lips.

“If you’re trying to get me to talk, it won’t work,” Varric said.

Cassandra kissed the join of his jaw and neck.

“I am a skilled interrogator,” she murmured.

His breath hitched as she slid her hand along his leg.

“You’ll have to do better than that, Seeker,” Varric said. His voice only wavered a bit. “Besides, it’s a short flight.”

Cassandra’s fingers skirted higher along his thigh.

“I can be very convincing,” she said.

Varric sucked in a breath, hissed it out between his teeth.

“You’ve got two hours,” he said. “Better make them count.”

***

When the plane finally landed, Cassandra was no closer to divining their purpose than she was when they’d boarded. Which was all well and good- Varric has gone to the effort of putting together a surprise, and she was loathe to spoil it. Varric’s fingers checked her blindfold, and then cradled her face terribly gently before he took her elbow and guided her into a waiting car.

Being blindfolded was a bit frustrating, if only because it meant relying on Varric to ensure she does not trip.

It was also terribly titillating, and Cassandra vaguely hoped that the car had a privacy window between them and the driver.

Varric lapsed into quiet as the car wound through the streets of whatever city they’d arrived in. Rather than his usual smooth confidence, Cassandra thought he felt nervous. Certainly, the hand which held hers so tightly was a little sweaty.

They rode in silence, until the car drew to a smooth stop. Cassandra could hear the driver’s seat belt unbuckle, then the sharp clack of his dress shoes against pavement. Varric reached across and undid her seat belt, then his own. The door opened, and brought with it a rush of sea air. In the distance, waves crashed against the shore.

“Varric, where are we?” Cassandra asked.

“Stop trying to guess and just enjoy the mystery, Seeker.”

It might’ve just been her, but Varric’s voice carried with it a faint note of worry. Whatever this surprise was, wherever he’d brought her, he was unsure about it. Her heart swelled at the thought. Varric was trying so hard to surprise her, to do something grand and romantic. And yet he doubted. It was unfair that he should feel so anxious about it.

“I will love it,” Cassandra murmured. “Whatever it is, my love.”

Varric huffed out a laugh, and kissed her temple.

Very quietly, so quietly Cassandra’s certain she wasn’t meant to hear, Varric whispered a quick prayer.

As they walked, Varric’s hand gripped hers very firmly. A door opened, and Cassandra felt the change as they moved from the outdoors into a building. It smelled familiar. There was something in the air which teased at her memories. Varric led her further in, down what Cassandra thought might be a hallway. They stopped, presumably at their destination. Then, the sound of a key turning in a lock, and a door creaking open.

When the door shut behind them, Varric let go of her hand and Cassandra felt suddenly adrift.

“Varric?”

She heard some small rustling noises, and the sound of ice against metal.

Varric drew closer to her, though he didn’t hold her hand again.

“You can-” he stopped, cleared his throat. “ You can take the blindfold off.”

Cassandra eagerly made short work of the knot of fabric keeping the blindfold on. It fluttered to the ground, dropped from nerveless fingers.

“Oh. Oh Varric,” she breathed out. “You ridiculous-”

Tears stung her eyes. When she caught sight of Varric’s stricken expression, Cassandra could do no more than laugh weakly, and fling herself at him.

His arms wrapped around her waist, clasping her tight against him. Cassandra could feel the rapid thrum of his heartbeat against her chest. Around them, the Happy Hearts Motel’s honeymoon suite was even more hideous than she remembered. Hidden in the crook of Varric’s neck, Cassandra let her lip tremble, felt a few hot tears escape and slide against his skin.

Varric cleared his throat.

“Surprised?” he asked weakly.

Cassandra pulled back, and stared down at Varric’s face, eyes devouring every beloved feature. Smiling softly, she leaned forwards and kissed him tenderly. Words were never her forte, but action is her language and Varric learned how to understand her in these past few years. Some of the tension melted from him as she broke the kiss.

“Very surprised, my love.”

Cassandra kissed him again, and stood. On one heart shaped side table, there was a bottle of champagne and two flutes. Making her way towards them with a smile, She stopped as Varric called her name.

“Cassandra?”

She turned back to where Varric stood, a sick looking half smile on his face. Cassandra froze, one hand resting on the champagne bottle. Fear clawed at her heart.

“Varric?”

Her voice jolted him out of his daze.

“Seeker,” he said in a thready voice.

“Varric, what’s wrong?”

Ice dripped down her spine. The room was suddenly too small and cold as worry choked her.

“I had a plan,” Varric said. “A speech about why we’re here and what it means, and now that it's actually time? Now that I- looking at you now, it all seems foolish.”

Cassandra stood stock still while Varric rummaged in his pockets. Pieces began to slide into place, and she hardly dared breathe.

“I love you. This shitty, tacky motel is where I first realized it, and it felt right to ask you here.”

He drew closer, and Cassandra could see his hands trembling.

“Varric?”

“Marry me.”

Time froze. Varric stared up at her, Cassandra stared down at him. Bonelessly she crumpled to her knees, and Varric dropped the ring box to catch her.

“Is that a no?” he joked.

“Yes!” Cassandra blurted out. “I mean no, that’s not a no. Maker.”

Varric broke their gaze.

“I’ll marry you,” Cassandra said softly. “Yes.”

Varric’s hands shook as he opened the ring box, and plucked the thin gold band out. Her own hands were trembling like leaves, Cassandra noted. Though they nearly dropped it twice, the ring eventually slid easily onto Cassandra’s ring finger.

Cassandra reached out, cupped Varric’s face in both her hands. It was a familiar, dear face. One she’d committed to memory long ago, but never tired of. This time though, it  brought her to tears. Varric leaned into her touch, tears seeping from beneath his lashes. The sight wrenched at Cassandra’s heart, and she gathered him close.

“Were you so afraid I would say no?” she asked. “That I would not want to spend the rest of my days at your side?”

“Worried you’d suddenly come to your senses,” he said.

Varric laughed halfheartedly. His arms wrapped around her waist, his mouth pressed a soft kiss against her collarbone. He breathed slowly, carefully. Cassandra let her head rest against his, buried her face in his hair.

“I will always be a fool for you,” Cassandra told him.

He looked up at her with that crooked grin she loved so desperately. Mischief sparkled in his eyes.

“How foolish, exactly?” he asked.

Warm, sure hands slid down her sides.

Cassandra smiled widely.

“Very,” she murmured, and kissed his forehead.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it. Fifteen chapters of these nerds going through ups and downs together. The first fic I ever got fan art for. Thank you everyone, I am so grateful for you. <3 <3 <3

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to adamska on tumblr for the beta and to the anon who asked for a simple prompt which turned into this nonsense.


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